


The Adventures of Wells and Wolcott

by Hermitstull



Category: Warehouse 12 - Fandom, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 28,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermitstull/pseuds/Hermitstull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot happened to HG Wells before the Bronze. Here are a few bits of that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Greetings!

Here are the collected one shots set in the world of Warehouse 12 found in The Vodka Made Me Do It series. I've finally decided to break them off into their own series and will update additional stories as part of this collection.

These are posted in the order they were posted in Vodka and are generally not in any chronological order story wise. Though I do try to indicate where in HG's timeline they fall. If you're a fan of the show, I've modified Christina's life span so that she was alive while HG was an Agent and kept the idea of her dieing late in the 1890s. There are quite a few original characters in this, plus others only mentioned as cannon given stories of their own.

To celebrate my finally getting this together, there is a new chapter at the end of this set HG's final years at Warehouse 12.

And as always, thank you so much for reading and commenting. Please continue to let me know what you think!


	2. Down with history, up with your head, for sweet tomorrow, she never fell from grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too dumb to say goodbye that's some cliché shit, make me wanna cry  
> Just know that every time I look in your eye, I see better, I see better, better days

He closely followed behind his partner as they chased their target down the street.  The man, a Mr. Robert Lockett, cast a quick glance behind him noting the Agents hot on his heels. Why they always ran he never understood. At least this collection was close to home. Travel, though fun, was tedious as of late.

His partner pointed toward an alley and before he could respond she was off. Sighing he continued on Mr. Lockett’s trail. It was a busy day in the square but he was able to keep track of the haggard looking man as he attempted to disappear into the crowd.  The Agent wished that for just this once things would go smoothly and innocents would not be hurt.

Mr. Lockett appeared to have other plans. He raised the artifact above his head, hoping to use is life draining properties on the crowd before he was captured.  Luckily he saw his partner slip behind the man before he could bring the item into play. With a deft move she had him subdued and the artifact secure.

“Well done,” he grinned. “That was a close one.”

“It appears our dear Mr. Lockett under estimated the skills that a woman can posses,” HG shook her head.  It was the 1890s for God sake. Would times never change?

“Lucky for us,” Wolcott replied.

“Indeed,” HG sighed.  “Come Wolly, Chataranga will want this curiosity secured as soon as possible.”

“Right ho then,” he nodded, following her through the crowd.

 

“Splendid,” Chataranga beamed, “Well done Miss Wells and Mr. Wolcott. Another successful collection, and without injury.”

“Thank you sir,” HG replied. 

“You two are becoming quite the pair,” he looked them over. “How would you feel about being teamed on assignments for a long term basis?”

Wolcott held a great admiration for Helena Wells. Her skills were beyond reproach and she had saved him from many a dire situation over the past several years. He would gladly be paired with the rising star of Warehouse 12.

“I would be thrilled sir,” Wolcott spoke first.

“As would I,” Helena beamed. “We make an excellent team.”

 

 

“Do you remember,” Helena looked over at him, “do you remember when we became partners?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “I was quite happy.”

“And now?” Helena asked, shifting on the small cot as much as the manacles would allow. She was to be bronzed later that day and had requested her last visit be from Wolly. Chataranga would have been far too painful.

“You will always be my partner in so many ways Helena,” Wolcott smiled sadly. “I only wish there was another way.”

“McShane’s life was lost due to my foolishness Wolly,” Helena sighed. “This is the only solution.” She looked over at her friend. “I am sorry for what I’ve put you through.”

“Nonsense,” Wolly fought back tears. He would be strong for Helena during their final hours together.  “You are my partner. My friend. You have saved me in countless ways Helena Wells.”

“I will miss you terribly HG,” Wolcott continued, “but I know that when, and note I say when, you awaken from your long slumber you will see the days you have envisioned.  And the hole in your heart will be repaired.”

“I hope so Wolly, I hope so.”

“I know so,” He smiled, allowing the tears to fall. “I look in your eyes and see better days ahead.”

 

 

“This is it,” the American, Brisbane looked over.  “These bronze statues are the last to go.”

Wolcott scanned the manifest, swallowing hard at reading HG’s name on the list.  With a flick of a pen he crossed it off before he handed it over to the American Agent.

“Quite a rogues gallery eh?” the young man asked. “Worst of the worst from what I’m told.”

“Or something like that,” Wolcott looked over at HG as she was boxed up by the moving team. 

“Come again?”

“Nothing, just be careful. We don’t want to lose another shipment. We spent many years capturing these curiosities for Warehouse 12. They need to make it safely to Warehouse 13.”

“Oh no,” Brisbane shook his head. “Mrs. Fredrick will kill us if we do. This one will make it to America safe and sound.”


	3. Once we were standing still in time, chasing the fantasies that filled our minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the half year they’d been gone much had happened in London. Charles had completed and published The Invisible Man to great acclaim, their dear friend Oscar had finally be released from prison, fleeing to parts not yet known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a bit of confirmed head cannon from this weekend's con about HG being Warehouse 12's version of Claudia. So here you go. Thanks for reading.

Wolcott paused at the door to Chataranga’s office. HG was standing at the window that faced the Thames, arms crossed at her waist with an inscrutable expression on her face.  They had been gone for nearly six months on a difficult retrieval in Siam, traveling throughout the country on the hunt for a bowl from the Ayutthaya period. A bowl which could bring the very ill back to life.

For a steep price.

In the half year they’d been gone much had happened in London. Charles had completed and published The Invisible Man to great acclaim, their dear friend Oscar had finally be released from prison, fleeing to parts not yet known.

And plans had been made to move the Warehouse to America.  Chataranga had informed the day after they had returned with the bowl.  An Irene Fredrick would be coming sometime in the next fortnight to learn the ways of the warehouse and be thirteen’s version of their mentor.

“How long were you planning to lurk in the doorway Wolly?”

“As long as necessary,” he replied. “I see you’re in a mood.”

“I am.”

Wolcott had always considered his fellow agent a friend. Their harrowing adventure together had added a new depth to their relationship. One of great candor.

“And what has brought on these sour times?” he quipped, setting into a stuffed chair on next to a cluttered desk. 

“Warehouse 13.”

“The new Warehouse?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever for,” he paused, wishing she would turn and face him. “It is years before completion.  I’m not pleased with the choice of the United States, but we will adapt as we always do.”

Helena turned finally to meet his gaze.

“They have proposed I become its Caretaker.”

The retort died in Wolcott’s mouth at the look of fear in his friend’s eyes.

“What of Mr. McGivens?” he asked.

“It seems that the office of Caretaker is non transferrable. “

“HG,” he stood and smiled, “Helena, what an honor.”

“And a burden,” she ran a hand through her dark hair. “I had hoped that after our ordeal we would be granted some time away but Chataranga insists that I begin my work with Mr. McGivens immediately in preparation for the new Warehouse.”

Wolcott moved to sit on the corner of the desk nearest to HG as the woman turned to face the window again.

“My mind is filled with thoughts of the past, of Christina. Of being surrounded by such wonderment and knowing that my daughter remains lost to me for all time.”

“Well, perhaps in the future their might be some way to see her again,” Wolcott offered. “And you will be privy to all that the upcoming twentieth century has in store.  Think of the marvelous inventions that you will create.” He smiled.  “You future will surely be a glorious one. I only wish I would be there to see all of it.”

He stood after a moment, leaving HG to her musings and making a mental note to speak with Chataranga as soon as possible about assisting with the move to Warehouse 13. As one of the most senior Agents of Warehouse 12 it would only be appropriate if he were selected. 


	4. Stay the night with the sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've always battled sleep.

You don’t sleep. You’ve never slept, not really.

As a child you remember escaping your room late at night after your parents or your nanny put you to bed, slipping out onto the ledge of your modest home and up onto the roof.  You’d gaze at the stars and make out the constellations that Charles had taught you over the summer.  Imagining what it would be like to travel to those distant points of lights.

As a young woman with a potential suitor on your arm, your nightly outings were plenty. A dinner, followed by a dance, followed by a party that only degenerates such as yourself would ever consider attending. But the crowd you surrounded yourself with never judged you for your predilections or desires.  There were many great thinkers to be found in the opium dens and brothels of London.  It was where you first met a man of the Warehouse.

In some ways you were prepared for Christina’s early years by your insomnia. Able to respond quickly when the baby cried out in the night; able to stay awake in order to sooth your colicky child. Charles only questioned you once on the true origins of your beloved daughter and in that late night discussion over brandy you confessed what created the greatest invention of your career.  He looked at you differently from that moment on buy you paid no mind.  Christina was your entire world.

Wolly had been the perfect partner in so many ways. Steadfast and true, knowing when to push and when to recede. He too, shared your nightly prowls, coming to you in the Warehouse workshop at the oddest hours. Many times just to read in the beat up chair someone had dragged from Chataranga’s office while you worked. Keeping a watchful eye on you for years after Christina’s death.

In hindsight you should have been well prepared for the Bronze given your lifelong ability to exist on a scant hours of sleep.  There were times during your encasement that you felt almost as if you were moving through the streets of London late at night. Other times you’d lose yourself in the darkness, Christina’s cries calling to you in the distance.  The twilight world of your mind became fractured by the in between.

During your tenure at the new Warehouse only Claudia shared your inability to sleep. The young genius kept awake by her late night tinkering or school work.  You mostly divided your post Myka evenings between the library or your room and would hear her moving about. She would sometimes join you for late night discussions on twenty first century techknowledgey.  She was you reborn without the darkness and her future would be a glorious one, of that you were quite certain.

And now you sit at your favorite window in your old home which looks upon a very different London. The Astrolabe like a yoke around your neck as you await word of your return, feeling tired for the first time in over a century.  You are ready to rest, to curl into the arms of the woman who has won your heart and to lay your burdens down. But the Warehouse is as demanding in this century as it was in yours as you find yourself on a never ending mission.

You don’t sleep. You never really have.  But you’ve never wanted to rest more than tonight.


	5. I fought for you the hardest, it made me the strongest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wonder,” Helena began voice so low that he almost missed it. “I wonder what Christina would think of me. Of us. If she would ever understand, ever forgive my not being there.”

“Where is your partner Agent Wolcott? Were we not clear on the time or location for this annual assessment?”

“You were sir,” William replied, sharing a look with Caretaker McGivens.

“As I explained Mr. Nasser,” the Caretaker spoke. “Today would be the day Agent Wells is not available.  Agent Wolcott is more than capable of handling this review himself.”

“Very well,” Nasser replied with a scowl.  “But I will be back in two months as a follow up.”

Wolcott grimaced and began this report.

 

The days were becoming longer and warmer William realized after walking the several blocks to visit his partner. He had relieved himself of this cape, draping it over his arm and loosened his collar a bit.  The trip had been spent lost in thought on how the review had gone with the Regents. Worried that HG hadn’t been there to explain the reason behind some of her more daring adventures. They always procured their curiosity but their methods were starting to draw concern their direction.

To be more specific, towards HG’s direction.

Time was not the balm he and others had hoped it to be.  Time was turning out to be the enemy as HG became more obsessed with the concept.  He still joined the inventor in her workshop late at night, reviewing the day’s Times or with his Yeats or Shaw.  In the past they had discussed their cases or gossiped about their coworkers. Every now and then were reading the same writer and enjoyed spirited debates over a book’s merits.  As of late HG was always working. Always sketching; always hiding behind goggles and a soldering iron.  

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the woman, his dear friend, behind the warehouse agent. 

McShane had voiced his concerns over pints at the Old Bell.

McGivens had inquired in his typical non direct Caretaker fashion.

He had approached Chataranga who answered his questions with another before disappearing into the recesses of the Warehouse in search of an artifact.

 

The Agent sat down on a small bench that overlooked the park half way between the Warehouse and the Wells home.  It had been Christina’s favorite and he’d often found mother and daughter there enjoying the bright summer days.  With her daughter’s body buried across the Channel, this had become Helena’s place to reflect in May.

“How did it go?”

“As expected,” Wolcott draped his cape over the side of the bench.  “Nasser is still an ass. Kosan his lackey. The others were fine.” He sighed. “They’ll be back midsummer with more questions.”

He chuckled. “I heard McGivens giving them an earful as I was leaving, making sure they did not chose July as the time for a return visit.”

“He is a thoughtful man.” Helena looked over at him, “for a Caretaker.”

“Yes,” he grinned.

They sat in a comfortable silence for some time.

 

“I wonder,” Helena began voice so low that he almost missed it. “I wonder what Christina would think of me.  Of us. If she would ever understand, ever forgive my not being there.”

William thought for a moment. “You were her hero Helena, she would have understood.”

When no reply came, he continued. “I can see it now, a teenage version of you,” he paused, “with long hair tied in a messy bun, dress shirt smudged with some unknown substance, pants dirty, half way submerged under some monstrosity that you two had created together.”

He pulled the slim, shaking body back into his shoulder, ignoring how Helena’s tears felt on his jacket as he placed his arm gently across her frame. 

“In fact,” he swallowed hard, “Good thing McShane and I are used to seeing women in trousers. I suspect your style will become common place in the new century. Christina at the forefront, side by side with you and Charles at your Suffragette Marches, speaking as the voice of the modern generation. ”

 As the sun set and he continued to share the adventures of a young Christina Wells, Helena was right there with him.


	6. Come save me from my artifact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now Agent Patel,” HG offered her hand to the prone man, “are you ready to learn some defensive maneuvers?”

“In my day,” Mr. Smithson frowned deeply, “this would have never been allowed.  A woman in the Warehouse.”

“What of Agent da Vinci,” McGivins kept his tone neutral. “She was a great asset to Warehouse 9 and the first woman to become head agent in this millennia.”

“She was a rare exception that happened under unique circumstances.”

McGivins rolled his eyes.  Thankful yet again that Smithson was gone.

 “And how is retirement from the Warehouse treating you these days.”

“Well enough.”  The former lead agent of Warehouse 12 observed the training session before him. “The Regents have set me up quite nicely.”

The pair watched as Agents Wolcott and McShane sparred while Agent Wells showed their newest recruit, Mr. Patel, some simple defensive maneuvers.

 

“Madam,” Agent Patel crossed his arms. “I am well trained in the art of physical combat. I do not need your assistance.”

“Is that so?” HG smirked. “Well then this should be an easy contest for you then.”

Both Wolcott and McShane knew that tone well. They ended their sparring moved out of the way.

“20 Quid that HG takes him down in under three minutes,” McShane whispered.

“Make it 40 and under one minute and it’s a deal.”

The men shook hands. Wolcott made sure to catch Helena’s eye and indicated there was a small wager on her success.

“It is improper for a gentleman to strike a lady,” Patel continued.

“Even if the lady is under the influence of a curiosity?”

“I will cross that bridge when I must,” Patel would not be swayed. “And this is not one of those times.”

HG barely caught her eye roll in time.

“Did you not say in your interview that you prided yourself on your preparedness?’

“Well, yes.”

“So then call this a practice session for when you do face that scenario. Because that day will surely come.  Right boys?”

“Definitely,” Wolcott agreed.

“Don’t remind me,” McShane added.

“So let’s pretend I’m a woman under the influence, as it were,” HG assumed a defensive pose. “Come save me from my artifact.”

Patel lunged in an attempt to overpower the smaller woman.  HG was faster and easily side stepped his attack, kneeing him in the stomach as he passed.  Gasping, he turned and attempted to land a punch but she again was faster, taking the man’s hand and using his momentum to spin him to the ground.

Within seconds he was pinned with his face pressed into the mat and his arm about to be broken.  He attempted to flip HG off of his back but a jab of her knee into his kidneys quickly ended his resistance.

“Do you yield?” she asked, pulling his arm further back.

“Yes! Yes! I yield,” Patel shouted.

She quickly moved off the man who remained on the floor breathing heavily.

“Bloody hell,” McShane cursed as grabbed his waistcoat from a hook on the wall.

HG shot Wolcott a wink.

“Now Agent Patel,” HG offered her hand to the prone man, “are you ready to learn some defensive maneuvers?”

 

“And do you still believe that women like Agent Wells have no place at Warehouse 12?” McGivens looked over at his companion.

“I woman like that is dangerous,” Smithson continued to frown. “Mark my words.  She’ll be the ruin of us all.” 


	7. Looking out at the burnt land, looking back at me, these used to be green crops, high on a summer breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said that if I starred, the abyss would stare back at me. So I did and I felt it slowly creep in me. Save for the smoke, that danced when I took a drag; It made me think about the way it all came to be.

They’d all stopped by to pay their respects.  McShane with his seemingly smooth words that barely hid his worry. McGivens with assurances that she could come back, or not, when she was ready.  Charles flitted in and out of her vision wearing a tight expression.  It had fallen to him to plan everything and the toll was beginning to show.

Chataranga hadn’t said a word, simply pulling her into a long hug that almost broke her.  She had sworn that no more tears would fall, not until Christina’s killers had been caught. But the warmth, the love that poured from her mentor was too much.

The door to her study finally shut.  Her partner had waited quietly in the wings for the others to leave. 

 

They had been on a mission in Helsinki, on the trail of a dagger once owned by Leif Erickson when the telegram arrived at their hotel.

She had collapsed onto the floor in the middle of the lobby with a cry of pain William hoped to never hear again, paper clutched in her hand.  He didn’t ask, knowing without a doubt that only one thing could bring HG Wells to her knees.

Later, when he’d finally managed to get her upstairs and into her room he was able to pry the note from her hands.  Wiping the tears from his own eyes he left his sleeping partner to make arrangements for a trip to Paris tomorrow morning.

Because of the brutal nature of the crime it was decided that Christina would be entombed in a small cemetery in Paris.  He had been in nearly constant contact with both Charles and the Warehouse the entire time as they planned accordingly.  With most of the Wells family in England, the memorial would be held there. With HG out for an indefinite period, Chataranga redistributed case files and McGivens met with The Regents.

Helena had barely spoken the entire time they had traveled together, sequestering herself in Christina’s room for hours on end.  Her cousins were beside themselves with grief as was Sophie whose vague recollection of the events was troublesome.  He had once been a detective and if they didn’t have facts to go from the criminals would be far more difficult to track down.

The images of the small ceremony flashed through Wolcott’s mind as he sat in the corner, watching his friend accept condolences from those most important to her.  Helena was better, talking more and finally eating but remained a pale shadow of the woman he knew.

 

She looked over at him finally, needed to say something. His presence had been there the entire time.  His stalwart friendship helping to keep her above the abyss.  His partnership a reminder of the reason she hadn’t been there for her dear sweet Christina.

The endless wonder had turned to ash in her mouth.

“I’m going to need some time William,” she turned, watching him rise slowly from a chair near the door. “Time to get things sorted.”

“I know,” he smiled sadly. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“And if I never return?”

“I’m your friend Helena, both inside and outside of the Warehouse.”

 

He turned to go, gathering his coat.  He wasn’t surprised that HG was unsure about returning to Warehouse 12.  If he was in her place, he definitely would not.

A hand gripped his shoulder like a vice, spinning him around and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

After a moment of shock, he returned the hug in equal force.


	8. We must snatch each little scrap of happiness and live and suffer and pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tonight we celebrate something that rarely happens in our field. Retirement.” Pause, “by choice.”

“Helena,” Charles shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “What is taking you so long? We are already late.”

“Really Charles,” Helena appeared at the top of the stairs. “A lady can’t be rushed.”

“Hmph,” he grumbled as his sister sauntered down the stairs. “I didn’t realize that The Old Bell required extra primping.”

“I do not primp,” HG rolled her eyes as Charles helped her with her coat. 

“If you say so.”

“Is it so wrong to desire to look respectable at a retirement party?”

“If it were at any other place than the Old Bell and didn’t involve one of your fellow Agents I’d say yes.”

His sister paused for a moment, frowning deeply and punched him on the shoulder.

“HG,” he reached up and rubbed the now bruised spot on his arm. “Are we once again children?”

“Yes,” she grinned and stuck out her tongue. “Come along, no dawdling.”

 

“I was beginning to worry,” Wolcott greeted. He handed over a glass of Champaign to his partner.

“Come now Wolly,” Charles appeared behind his sister. “When does Helena turn down a good party?”

“Charles isn’t that Miss Spencer over their by Agent Patel? Why don’t you go over and say your hellos.”

Her brother quickly excused himself.

“Miss Spencer,” Wolcott shook his head. “Really HG. That’s wasn’t very nice.”

“He has been quite fond of her since the Christmas party,” HG explained, watching her brother chat with the manager of the boarding house where Wolcott and McShane stayed.  “And she is rather charming.”

“Oh I know,” Wolcott smirked. “I heard you charming her three nights a week for some time after that holiday gathering.”

HG laughed and clinked her glass with Wolcott’s.

 

“Attention! Attention!” McShane’s booming voice ending the conversation.

“Thank you,” he looked around the room. “I’d like to take a moment to say a few words about the man who brought us here tonight, Albert Holcomb.”

Cheers and clapping broke out from the crowd.

“Tonight we celebrate something that rarely happens in our field.  Retirement.” Pause, “by choice.”

More cheers and clapping mixed with laughter filled the bar. HG made eye contact with her brother who winked back.

“He is the third in the history of Warehouse 12 and deserves the best of well wishes. So congratulations to my friend and mentor. May the rest of your days be spent in peace.”

Another round of clapping and cheers. McShane motioned to the corner of the bar and a small band began to play, livening up the festive atmosphere even more.

 

HG spent several turns on the dance floor with McShane, Wolcott and even Agent Holcomb. She had joked with Chataranga and Patel about the daily amusements that the Warehouse seemed to bring. She had even managed a few heated moments in the cloak room with Miss Spencer before sending her back out to speak with her brother.

“Care for a smoke Agent Wells,” McGivens appeared in front of her, offering her a nice looking cigar.

“Well it has been some time,” she smiled. “After you.”

The pair found themselves on a small patio behind the bar and joined an already buzzed Agent Wolcott.

“HG,” he beamed, pulling his partner in by the shoulder. “Where have you been?”

“My dear Mr. Wolcott I fear that you might have had a bit too much to drink.”

“Perhaps just a wee bit.”

“Are you enjoying the party Mr. McGivens?” Wolly asked as he leaned more on the shorter woman beside him.

“Quite a bit,” the caretaker puffed for a moment. “It’s a rare thing for an Agent to leave on their terms. So many times their lives are cut short by tragedy of some sort.”

“Too true,” Helena thought of the three other Agents that had started around the same time as her many years ago. Two had died in the field and one was at Bethlem Hospital never to leave again.

“What I’ve learned in my years to is appreciate the small moments,” McGivens looked out over the small patio, not really seeing his surroundings. “The downtime spent in study or laughter or discovery.  The moments of triumph and joy. They are too few in our business and will become even more precious as we head into this new century.”

HG glanced over at Wolcott who, despite his inebriated state, seem to be in the moment with her. It was rare for McGivens to show his more human side.  She caught her partner’s eye who looked as bewildered as she felt.  

The moment was broken by the back door opening causing both she and Wolcott to look away from the Caretaker. Helena recognized Charles backlit frame.

“HG,” he called. “McShane is looking for you. Something about a bet the two of you have.”

“Bollocks.”  She cursed as Wolcott sagged against her again. “Mr. McGivens would you be so kind…” but the Caretaker had disappeared.

“It’s okay HG,” Wolcott slurred. “I’m fine.”

William stood up for a moment, swayed slightly and collapsed onto the ground.

 

 

“Well that was a successful evening,” Charles said as he helped his sister off with her coat. It was well past 3am when they finally returned to their flat. They had successfully moved Wolcott from the patio floor to his own bed and Charles had secured a lunch date with Miss Spencer next week.  Albert Holcomb had been sent off with much fanfare and love and Helena had quite enjoyed herself.

Her thoughts returned to the odd conversation with Mr. McGivens as she gazed at Christina’s picture before going to bed.   Small moments were to be treasured and if her plans were successful there would be many more soon to come with her beloved daughter.


	9. So happy I was invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That is not why you were selected Agent Wells,” Chataranga replied harshly. “Your quick wit and ability to improvise was what separated you from your colleagues. Plus this.” he waved his arm across the work room. “I suspect that you will have some gadget of your own creating ready and waiting when the time comes.”

Three months in and she was hitting her stride as an Agent.  There was still much to learn about the curiosities that lined the aisles though.  And yes, she’d gotten lost in Pinkerton 455 more times than she’d care to admit. But for the first time in many years she felt at home.

“It’s like you were born for this place,” Sarah Donnelly, the only other female Agent currently at the Warehouse said one day as they completed the never ending inventory list.

“Coming from you Agent Donnelly that means a great deal,” Helena felt herself blush just a bit. She’d studied the older woman’s files and only hoped one day to be a fraction as good as the senior Agent was.

“I’m not that old yet Agent Wells. Don’t let these streaks of grey fool you.”

Their chuckling was broken by the sound of hurried footsteps.

“Agent Donnelly,” pause “And Agent Wells.” He could barely hold back the contempt when he said her name. “Chataranga has a case for us.”

“Excellent Agent Kipling,” Donnelly nodded. “After you.”

“He’ll get over it eventually my dear,” she whispered to HG as they fell in behind. “After all, the Warehouse doesn’t have a favorite, despite what Rudyard thinks.”

 

HG knew that Warehouse 12 had a full staff of Agents but she didn’t realize quite how many she had yet to meet.  She settled in the back of the room next to Agents McShane, Holcomb and Wolcott who she’d just met the other day in passing.

“The broach of The Green Dragon has made itself known again,” Chataranga began. He stepped next to a map of Europe that hung from the wall.  “There was a mysterious death here in Lisbon,” he placed a flag on the map, “but it wasn’t until incidents in Nates and Le Havre that we realized the broach had returned.”

“And what does this broach do?” one of HG’s fellow recruits, Agent Parker asked.

“The broach belonged to a Chin Emperor Ming T’ien, also called the Green Dragon. He was ruthless, so much so he had his own mother killed to spite one of his foes.”

“Nasty bugger,” HG murmured.

“Indeed,” Holcomb agreed.

“The broach will allow the wearer to harm whoever they think of in a negative manner. The darker the thoughts, the more twisted the death.  We’ve almost captured this curiosity twice during Warehouse 7’s time and later in Warehouse 9’s but it slipped our grasp.”

“We believe the broach is now in the possession of a Mr. Franklin Salisbury, a noted collector of antiquities from the ancient Orient.  He will be arriving in London in a little over a week’s time to meet with a dealer who has one of the bracers worn by Alexander the Great.”

“Isn’t that one of our curiosities?”  Kipling asked.

“It is indeed.” Chataranga nodded. “Which is why we will have a plan in place to ensure the successful capture of this artifact.”

“And who is to meet with our Mr. Salisbury?” McShane looked around the room. 

“One of our most capable agents,” Chataranga smiled and made contact with HG.

“Bollocks.” She cursed.

Kipling rolled his eyes.

 

 

“And what do we have here Agent Wells?” Chataranga help up the object.

“Oh,” HG looked up from her workbench. She’d found an empty storage room her third day as an Agent and made it a work shop of sorts.  Sketches for various projects hung on the walls. Parts of others were scattered in a bit of organized chaos across two tables.

“I’m calling it a Grappler,” HG pushed the goggles on top of her head. “I’ve got the firing mechanism complete but need to devise a way to fit a proper length of cable in the casing.”

“Interesting,” the older man looked over the Grappler for a moment before replacing it on the table.

“You have been quite subdued as of late,” slowly circled the office, pausing before the sketch of a shrinking ray. He smirked. “Are you well?”

“I’m quite chipper sir.”

“Really,” he turned. “Are you sure about that?”

For some reason HG found herself wilting under her mentor’s scrutiny.

“No sir.  I am not.”

“Because of this case?”

“Yes,” she pulled the goggles from her head. “Are you sure I am the right Agent for this? I am skilled but there are so many others with more experience than me.  Perhaps Agent Donnelly?”

“She was considered, but doesn’t possess the charm required to handle this situation.”

“Charm,” HG frowned. “And just went I thought my skills would be valued over my feminine wiles.”

“That is not why you were selected Agent Wells,” Chataranga replied harshly.  “Your quick wit and ability to improvise was what separated you from your colleagues. Plus this.” he waved his arm across the work room. “I suspect that you will have some gadget of your own creating ready and waiting when the time comes.”

“Oh. Well thank you sir.”

“No thank you Helena,” Chataranga smiled again. “Never doubt your value Miss Wells.”

 

“Jack the Ripper’s lantern, The Marquis de Sade’s crop and now The Green Dragon’s broach,” Agent Donnelly smiled as she placed the artifact on the shelf.  “Quite an impressive collection Agent Wells.”

“Thank you ma’am.” HG beamed. “I was wondering if you and your husband would care to join my brother and I for supper sometime next week.  I know Christina would love to meet you.”

“Do they know what you do?”

“Not just yet. They only know that I go to a place filled with endless wonder every day.  And that I’m happy to have been included in this world.”

“Well that is enough then.”

“It is. It is indeed.”


	10. Fantasia on the Dargason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It could be worse,” Chataranga smirked. “Either of you could have been paired with Agent Kipling.”

“Good,” Chataranga looked down at a file on his desk. “This is for you.”

He handed a copy to the Agents before him. 

“What is this?” HG asked.  “Am I to be paired with Agent McShane?”

“Of course.”

After a moment they both spoke over each other.

“I think I’ve proven myself more than capable on solo missions…”

“Does Agent Holcomb know about this? I don’t think that he’ll…”

Chataranga held up his hand.  “Agent Wells you are more than capable but this collection requires two Agents. Agent Holcomb is taking a leave to visit his sister’s family. His niece is about to give birth to her first child.”

The pair sighed.

“It could be worse,” Chataranga smirked. “Either of you could have been paired with Agent Kipling.”

 

 

Agents Wells and McShane sat in silence as the carriage carried them south to Canterbury. An original manuscript of Gibbons The Silver Swan had surfaced.

“I have to admit I’m quite surprised no deaths have occurred,” McShane observed as he reread the report.  “You’d think with a verse such as ‘Farewell, all joys! O Death, come close mine eyes’ the results would be worse.”

“I’m sure those listeners who turned into geese would beg to differ,” HG looked up from her copy of the report. “But I do suppose there are more fools than wise in this day and age.”

Silence fell again as the coach bumped along. HG could feel her partner’s stare.

“Do you have something to share Agent McShane?”

“I’ve read them you know,” McShane finally said. “Your short stories. Quite brilliant.”

“Really,” HG was surprised.

“Even if the concept of time travel isn’t new.” He smirked.

 

At one point the coach driver was tempted to pull off the road and make sure the occupants were okay. He had never heard two people bicker quite so intensely. Over some book or other nonsense.  People these days, he shook his head. Priorities all out of kilter.

 

By the time they arrived in Canterbury it was nearly midnight. Far too late to start an investigation. Luckily the inn’s proprietor was a friend of Mr. McGivens and had kept warm plates for them to sup on.

“I am sorry that you were stunned on my behalf,” HG admitted after they’d finished. “I didn’t realize that Chataranga would use you as an example.”

“Thank you,” McShane smiled. “It’s quite all right actually. You’ll get your share when the next group of recruits joins the Warehouse. A bit of a rite of passage really.”

“I feel as if it got us off on the wrong foot,” HG continued. “After our conversation today I now see than you are more than an animated target dummy.”

McShane narrowed his eyes as HG chuckled.

 

“That’s the lot of ‘em,” Farmer Edwards pointed to the flock of geese in his pen.

“Are you sure these are all animals found inside the town hall?” McShane asked as HG hopped the fence to examine the birds closely.

“I’m sure,” the farmer frowned as HG leaned down and picked up one of the docile animals. She looked over at her partner and nodded. That was clue enough that these were no ordinary fowl.

“Your companion. She’s an odd one mate.”

“HG?” McShane watched as HG spoke softly to the creature before pulling out a feather. After a moment more she gently set it back down. “She an Ornithologist.”

“A what?”

“She is a studier of birds.”

Farmer Edwards scowl deepened. “She needs to learn her place that’s what.”

McShane frowned. “Good day Mr. Edwards.  And remember do not separate this flock under order of the Crown. We will be at Sheppard’s Inn if you have any questions.”

“Farmer Edwards not your type of fellow?” HG asked as they headed back toward the inn.

“No.”

 

“And what of the singers Father Warrick?” HG sat next to the older man while McShane roamed the pews.

“They were part of the choir.” he sighed. “This is the devil’s work.”

“Perhaps. But we must find a solution. And quickly. Do you know what happened to the sheet music they were using?”

“I’m not sure,” the man clenched his hands together.

“When I misplace something important,” HG leaned in and spoke warmly. “I try to picture the location where I last saw it to start. I’m quite forgetful actually.” She smiled. “My daughter, Christina, is far better at keeping track of her things than I am of mine.”

 

“Excellent work HG,” McShane followed her out of the church. “I find it hard to believe you misplace anything.”

“Oh but I do,” HG admitted, thinking of Christina’s teasing voice as she helped her mother search their home for some odd or end.

“And you have a daughter?”

“Yes,” she swallowed. “Christina.”

“I was unaware you were married.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.”

 

In the end finding the manuscript was quite easy and reversing its effects caused minimal disruption. They were able to effectively use one of their cover stories about an unusual outbreak of a certain plant that cause mass hallucinations and bid goodbye to Canterbury in three days time.

“What has you smirking so Agent McShane?” HG inquired as the same coach and driver brought them back to London.

“Though I am loathe to admit this,” he began, “I have enjoyed our partnership on this collection.”

HG quirked a brow. “I must agree. You are far more capable that I initially anticipated.”

McShane shook his head. “I’m glad to be a foil to your misconceptions Helena. I hope your ego didn’t take too big a bruising.”

“My ego?” she smirked. “Are you sure you want to open this topic of conversation?”

 

The driver shook his head again as the bickering resumed. Though he had to admit the tone of the arguments were far friendlier than on the ride into Canterbury.


	11. Oh remembrance so dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I love Verdi most of all.” Helena continued, sliding a hand around the other woman’s waist. “His works will always remind me of times spent with Wolly, Roberta and Chataranga from Warehouse 12” she sighed. “And of Cecelia.”

Wolcott folded yesterday’s Times down just a bit so he could observe his partner work.  He sat in a ragged chesterfield chair that he and HG had dragged into her workshop right after they had been partnered on the Lockett case some five months prior. They soon found themselves in a comfortable routine of William reading while Helena worked after long days spent at Warehouse 12.

He had been surprised when Chataranga had announced they would be permanently paired together.  She and McShane had three successful collections in 1889 and took great delight in goading each other into arguments about everything under the sun.

There had even been whispers around the turn of the year that despite their acrimonious relationship she and Agent Kipling would be paired. They had successfully saved the Queen’s life during a critical retrieval and prevented the end of the world. 

 

“I would rather be encased in Bronze,” he’d overheard Kipling say to Agent Donnelly while working on inventory a few weeks after the collection concluded.  “Than be partnered with that woman.”

“Rudyard please,” Donnelly chided. “She is brilliant and a fantastic Agent. Any of us should be so lucky to have a team mate such as her.”

William peeked through a break in the artifacts to observe the pair one aisle over.

Kipling’s face was tight as he spoke. “I will give you that her skills as an Agent are adequate,” he growled out. “But that does not change what she is.”

Roberta looked up from her file, a stern expression on her face.

“And what is that?” she replied sarcastically. “Your better?”

“An introvert.” He hissed.

“What?”

“Ask her about Cecelia Livingstone.” He spat out.

 

For whatever reason that conversation came back to him as he watched Helena ticker with another of her inventions. He never found out of Agent Donnelly had inquired about Miss Livingstone and noticed no change in how the women interacted with one another. 

He looked down again at the Times, noticing a brief note about a society wedding that had occurred last week. A Miss Cecelia Livingstone had been married to an Arthur O’Malley one week prior.

“Ah,” he said to himself.  “That’s why.”

“Why what?” Helena looked up from the workbench.

“It’s nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Something is afoot my dear Mr. Wolcott. An article in the Times perhaps?”

Before he could reply she swooped in with a chuckle and yanked the paper from his hands.

“HG please,” he clutched at air as she spun away from him.

“Let’s see what has caught your eye shall we?” 

He held his breath and her dark eyes scanned the page.  The smirk on her lips fell into a frown as she read.

 “I’m sorry HG I overhead Agent Kipling one day in the aisles going out about the connection Miss Livingstone and you once shared.”

“And do you share Kipling’s beliefs?” she asked coldly.

“Heavens no,” he scoffed. “That man is a cad.”

“And what of my predispositions?”

“What of them?”  He replied, genuinely confused by the question.

Wolcott leaned back in the chair as HG handed over the newspaper.

“You are a good man William Wolcott. And a better friend than I deserve.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” he asked softly.

“Not at this time.”

 

“Roberta, if I might have a moment.”  William sat down at Agent Donnelly’s desk a few days later. They had been left to mind the office while their fellow agents completed inventory. Chataranga had dragged HG off to his workshop with a question on something mechanical.

“Certainly Wolly,” the older woman looked up, “I need a break from these damned reports.”

“It’s about Helena.”

“Is your partnership not working out?”

“We get along splendidly. It’s a question of a more personal nature.”

“Well shouldn’t you be speaking with Agent Wells then?”

“That’s just it. We get on well as co workers. We have many things in common. I dine with Christina and Charles at her home at least once a week.”

“But?”

“I feel as if I know nothing about her. About her past.”

“Does who she was really matter then?” Roberta met Wolcott’s eyes.  “Because the person she is now is a good one, is she not?”

“She is.” He replied confidently.

“But you’re still troubled.”

He sighed.  “Yes.”

“Then ask her, not me. For any information she might have said remains in my confidence. But for what it’s worth, I’m quite sure she will share more of her past in given a bit more time. I know she’s quite fond of you.”

 

Two weeks and one hectic retrieval later, Wells and Wolcott found themselves enjoying a game of chess in HG’s workshop.  The pair had spent the day with Chataranga and McShane testing ways to deliver neutralizer more effectively.

“I do hope McShane is all right,” HG said as she studied the board.  “He did ingest quite bit of the neutralizer fluid.”

“If only you two hadn’t been debating Othello so exuberantly.” 

“McShane fails to understand the subtle nuances of Verdi’s works.” She attempted to imitate her fellow Agent, “If it’s not being performed at Bayreuth it doesn’t qualify as opera.”  She scowled. “Rubbish.”

William couldn’t help but chuckle at HG’s indignant tone as she made her move.

“Very clever,” he studied the board for a moment. HG almost had him at check mate.

“Are you humming in an attempt to distract me?”  He looked up.

“Hmm,” HG’s mind was elsewhere.

“You’re humming,” he said again. “Something from Verdi I assume?”

“What?” she met his eyes, “Sorry Wolly, I was lost in the past for a moment.”

He waited.

“Verdi always makes me sentimental,” she smiled sadly.

“His work is quite beautiful.”

“Indeed.” She sighed. “I was at a performance of Nabucco some years ago.  Charles was a friend of the conductor for that evening at Covent Garden so we were given far better seats than we usual received.  It was during the first intermission when Charles had run off to talk to a school chum of his when I first met Cecelia.”

“Cecelia Livingstone?”

“Yes,” HG blushed a bit.  “She was accompanying her father while her mother was away visiting her sister in Manchester. It was a chance meeting for sure but one that was quite remarkable.”

“I found myself at a loss for words when she approached and asked if we had met before.”

“Had you,” William was riveted.

“I knew we had not, for hers was face I would not soon forget.” She leaned back in her chair with a faraway look in her eyes.  “I was charmed from the start. We talked of Verdi and other works we had seen at the Royal Opera house.  I later found out that she traveled in the same circles as Lady de Grey who had introduced me to Oscar Wilde.”

William sat enraptured as Helena spoke of her time with Cecelia. Of quiet moments in the library of Sir Livingstone’s home, of long walks through gardens of mutual friends, of quite dinners shared with Charles and sometimes Oscar.

“I had just turned 19 and I was in love.”  Helena sighed.

“And when I professed my undying devotion and the end of an evening spent at a performance of Un ballo in Maschera she told me she knew, kissed me sweetly and told me never to contact her again.”

William clutched his chest. “Oh Helena,” he began.

“It’s alright,” she sighed. “Years have passed since that evening. And I am glad that she was able to find love elsewhere. I will always hold a fond place in my heart for Cecelia for I now understand why we could never be together.”

“Mark my words Helena, things will change someday.”

“Perhaps,” she looked down at the chess board. “But they will not save you from my check mate in four moves.”

 

 

“Is that Va, pensiero you’re humming?” Agent Donnelly looked up from her never ending paperwork some days later.

“It is,” William nodded. “HG snuck us into a performance two nights ago.”

“Her secret area in the rafters?”  Roberta leaned in to whisper.

“Yes.”  He beamed.  “How did you know about it?”

“I was young and in love once myself Mr. Wolcott.”

 

 

Many years later…

“Are you sure this is safe?” Myka asked as her legs dangled far above the stage.

“Of course,” Helena replied as the opening chords of La Traviata filled the hall. “I was quite surprised to find my secret seat still intact after so many years.  One of the first things I did when I returned to London this century to was come to the opera.”

“After MacPherson freed you?” Myka asked, leaning further into the comforting form of her partner.

“A moving performance of Parsifal,” she smirked. “McShane would have loved it.”

“Duncan McShane of Warehouse 12?”

“He was a bit of a Wagner fanatic.”

“Really,” Myka’s mind began to spin possible stories of a young HG Wells attending the premiers of works now considered classics.

“But I love Verdi most of all.” Helena continued, sliding a hand around the other woman’s waist. “His works will always remind me of times spent with Wolly, Roberta and Chataranga from Warehouse 12” she sighed. “And of Cecelia.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about them,” Myka turned and gave Helena a kiss. “But after the show.”

“Indeed,” HG grinned as the overture ended and the lights came up on Violetta’s salon.


	12. Crown Imperial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After circling the grounds for the third time, HG found her disheveled partner under a tree.   
> “Are you all right?”  
> “Just give me a minute,” he nodded toward the prone form of a giant man some ten meters away. “I had to subdue that brute. Do you think I could receive two points for him?”  
> Helena assessed the massive man. “Indeed.”

“Bloody hell,” HG cursed as she subdued another crackpot. The demented man made her sixth of the week.

“Victoria will have your head,” the mad man shouted, squirming as Helena cuffed his hands behind his back.

“There you are,” Wolcott wheezed over her left shoulder.

“So glad you could make it,” she quipped. “If you would join me once and a while on my morning calisthenics these long foot chases wouldn’t be so tiresome.”

“Yes yes,” Wolcott rolled his eyes. 

HG pulled the prone man up as the Bobbies approached.

“Another for Her Majesties jail cell,” HG smirked as the officers hauled him away.

“I believe that puts us in the lead,” Wolcott pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and made a tick mark.

Helena gathered herself and followed her partner out onto the crowded street. Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee had put all of London on alert.  Even the Warehouse Agents had been pressed into service to keep the peace and an eye out for curiosity mischief.  

Many of the Agents resumed their former roles for the Empire for the duration of the celebration.  McShane found himself in a military uniform once again and attached to the Queen’s personal guard. Holcomb was back in the diplomatic corps with Donnelly and Patel working as interpreters. Wolcott carried a badge for the Yard with HG as his consultant.

Even Chataranga who rarely was assigned a case was working with the staff at the Palace as one of the many head Butlers overseeing the multitude of official events.  In fact, the only Agents spared were Kipling and Lewis who were somewhere in Peru looking for an Incan doomsday artifact.

“I’m not sure about that tally,” HG straightened her waistcoat. “McShane managed to capture an artifact this morning and Patel sussed out an imposter in the Prussian delegation.”

“Bollocks,” Wolcott frowned.

The pair weaved their way through the crowds gathered at Trafalgar Square in preparation for the Queen’s procession through the streets to St Paul’s Cathedral.  

Helena side stepped a rambunctious child, “I cannot tell you how thrilled I will be when this event is over.”

“Only the State dinner tonight,” Wolcott replied. “Oh and the open air ceremony.”

“What could possibly go wrong there?” Helena asked sarcastically.

 

Several hours and another small retrieval later Helena found herself amidst the crowd assembled in St. Paul’s square.  She had made contact with McShane, Holcomb and Patel as she kept her eyes on the masses assembled.  Wolcott had separated from her as soon as they reached the area to ensure they would secure more miscreants than the other Agents and win the wager.

HG decided not to count the drunken reveler and his friend but did count the fake Trombonist hiding some sort of dart contraption in his instrument. Time was of the essence and she had no idea where the other teams stood.

After circling the grounds for the third time, HG found her disheveled partner under a tree.

“Are you all right?”

“Just give me a minute,” he nodded toward the prone form of a giant man some ten meters away. “I had to subdue that brute. Do you think I could receive two points for him?”

Helena assessed the massive man. “Indeed.”

 

Two days and many incidents later, Helena found herself in the office of the Warehouse with several of her fellow Agents in front of a scowling Barnabas McGivens to discuss the events of the past week.  It seemed that the incident with the pudding during the State dinner had created the most disruption.  Helena was glad she and Wolcott had been dealing with the rogue foliage situation and managed to avoid the kitchen disaster.

 Chataranga had admitted (in the heat of the moment) that he had never been so pressed in his skills as an Agent.  And that he hoped to never have to deal directly with Victoria again.

“The Queen sends her thanks,” McGivens scanned the page he held. “Her Majesty realizes the many potential threats that you were able to neutralize during the Diamond Jubilee. She is forever grateful for the work of the Agents of Warehouse 12.”

Helena made eye contact with Wolly. Almost in the clear. They had yet to compare notes with their fellow Agents but she was quite confident that they had won the bet.  Helena already had plans for the next three weekends free of inventory duty and what she would buy Christina with her share of the winnings.

“However,” the Caretaker frowned, “that does not excuse the reckless behaviors displayed over the past week.”

The room erupted in protests from the Agents assembled. Even the recently returned Kipling and Lewis stood in solidarity.

The Caretaker held up a hand and the room quieted.

“The Regents and myself understand the unique circumstances presented so there will be no other actions other than a warning to adhere to the rules that govern the Warehouse.” McGivens paused and smirked. “And for the record I wish to thank Agents Wells and Wolcott for the many a round at the Old Bell my winnings will purchase.”

Groans mixed with cheers filled the room.


	13. You forgot what you meant when you read what you said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally Helena would have ignored the muttered reply by Kipling. He had been disparaging her character for years in various ways, which she would roll here eyes and walk away in reply.  
> But no longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first new installment of the Adventures series! There will be at least one more part to this update. Thanks again for reading and as always please let me know what you think.
> 
> And thanks Roadie who endured many a ramble about this series and Warehouse 12 in general.

HG raced through the streets of London chasing the teen in possession of the latest artifact they’d been assigned.  She’d given up years ago on Wolly being able to keep up thanks to his steady regiment of puff pastries.

The Agent glanced over her left shoulder. Kipling, despite his age was only a few steps behind. She had to give the man credit. He was one of the few who understood the value of staying fit. Especially after Agent Donnelly’s death.

(She still hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.)

But she couldn’t help how much he’d aged seemingly overnight since Rebecca’s passing.  He was paying his own price.

(But she would never fully forget).

They continued to run, trailing and guiding the ruffian to where McShane waited. After nearly ten years with the Warehouse this was one of a myriad of chases she’d found herself a part of. Another day, another miscreant with an artifact.  She had more pressing matters such as her completed time machine.

Christina, now gone nearly two years was ready to be saved.

So this curiosity needed to be collected quickly.

 

She and Kipling slowed their pursuit when the young thief dashed into the alley way.  Several Agents awaited the young man and his curiosity.

“Well that’s that then,” HG straightened her waistcoat and adjusted her hair. “Another case closed.”

“Yes,” Kipling was only slightly out of breath. “And good riddance.”

“Thank you for your assistance Agent Kipling,” HG nodded.  “I will see you back at the Warehouse to fill out the report on this case.”

Normally Helena would have ignored the muttered reply by Kipling. He had been disparaging her character for years in various ways, which she would roll here eyes and walk away in reply.

But no longer.

“I do wish,” she turned, hot eyes on the older man, “that you would, for perhaps once, share your true feelings. I have grown weary of your looks and breathy comments over these many years.”

He paused, “now is neither the time nor the place.”

“And when will you deem it appropriate?” she shot back. “Because there has been ample the opportunity. What is so offensive that you might not repeat it in mixed company?” She gestured to the civilian passersby.

Kipling’s eyes hardened. “Always so cocksure. So arrogant.” He hissed. “Even in the early months you strut about as if you owned the Warehouse.  You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Show myself as a superior Agent these many years? A valued asset as an inventor? A researcher? A scientist?”  HG snorted. “Jealousy doesn’t become you Rudyard.”

“I will NEVER be jealous of the likes of you,” Agent Kipling’s face grew red. “How many lives have you nearly lost? How many rules have you bent or broken over the years Wells in order to get what you want? You are reckless and careless. It’s a miracle that Wolcott hasn’t been severely injured yet in one of your pursuits.”

“How dare you,” HG hissed and stepped closer to the man. “How dare you talk about foolish behaviors after what has happened to your partner?”

“That is a low blow Wells,” Kipling didn’t back down.

“If the shoe fits,” she smirked and began to walk away.

“She told me,” Kipling called.  “Rebecca told me about your time machine.  About your obsession with Christina.”

HG stopped short and turned around slowly.

“Only you,” he barked, which caused several heads to turn his direction. Closing the distance between them he continued. “Only you dream up a way to bend the fabric of time to suit your whims.  Do you not think that changing history could have a negative effect on the entire globe? Is one life worth millions?”

“What if it was your daughter,” HG growled out.

“I would mourn her and make my peace.”

HG could barely restrain the rage she felt at Kipling’s words.

“You know nothing then,” she stepped so she was chest to chest with the man. “Of what matters.  After I’m done saving Christina I’ll make sure to be there for Rebecca so that the wrong Agent isn’t sacrificed.”

With a wink she turned and walked off into the crowd, ignoring the other Agents as they called her name.

 

“I heard about what happened today HG,” Wolcott said as he sat down in his chair in the inventor’s workroom. “It would not be wise to provoke Kipling in the manner you did today.”

“He has been provoking me for years,” HG replied, not looking up from the mechanism she was working on. “I have grown weary of the snide comments and constant undermining of my work.”

“He has reported you Helena,” William leaned forward in the chair. “Chataranga and McGivens have told the Regents of your threat. There will be an investigation.”

“Let them,” HG’s tone was flat. “I have done nothing and until today said nothing for me to be concerned about.”

“Helena,” concern colored his tone, “you could be suspended from the Warehouse as a result of this investigation. Do you not care at all about the possible repercussions?”

HG sighed and looked up from her work.  “Of course I care,” she spun on her stool and looked over at her friend. “The Warehouse has been my home for many years and you, dear Wolly, have been one of my truest friends.  I am sure once we sit down and discuss this that everything will be sorted properly.”

She stood and took William’s hand, tugging him out of the chair as she continued to speak.

“I will speak with Chataranga and Kipling to make sure we are all on good terms so that the Regents will see that this is all just a misunderstanding.  Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Before he even realized it HG had walked Wolcott out the door of her workshop and shut it behind her. When he reached for the knob he heard the click of a lock.

 

 

“We have been remiss in our duty these many years,” McGivens began.  The Caretaker stood at near the window of Chataranga’s office, looking out over London. “As Caretaker and head Agent, we should have ended this quarrel between the two of you long ago.”

“And so it ends today,” Chataranga sat behind his desk, making eye contact with both Wells and Kipling.  “From nearly the beginning you have bickered, antagonized each other and pulled your fellow Agents onto sides in your endless battle against one another.”

Both Agents began to argue their side.  McGivens stepped forward and raised his hand for silence.

“You are both valuable Agents to this Warehouse,” McGivens stood at Chataranga’s shoulder.  “And continue to be so despite great personal losses over the past several years. But things are changing. The Warehouse will be moving soon to America. And if you hope to remain Agents at Warehouse 13 let us clear the air now.”

A tense silence filled the room. Finally with a sigh Chataranga spoke.

“Agent Kipling,” he flipped over a thick folder on this desk. “I believe there was an issue with Agent Wells early on?”

He snorted. “Of course, you’d lay this on my shoulders.”

“That’s not what I’m saying…”

“Yes, it’s exactly what you’re saying. What you’ve always tacitly said. That I started this quarrel when I initially opposed her becoming an Agent.”

“Because I’m a woman,” HG grumbled.

“Was I not partnered with a _woman_ for the past 15 years Wells?” Kipling gripped the handles of his chair. “That has never been the issue.”

“Then what has?”  Chataranga pressed.

TBC


	14. Horkstow Grange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How often do these visits happen,” HG straightened her waist coat yet again. “Because once in my lifetime is quite enough.”  
> “For once we are agreed Agent Wells,” Kipling said from his desk as he checked his mustache in a small hand held mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not the update to the previous chapter you were looking for but a bit of an prequel to chapter 12 (Crown Imperial). Plus there is a slice or two of backstory offered here to the world of HG Wells and Warehouse 12.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. I am sincere in my request for thoughts on this and all other things I write.

“How often do these visits happen,” HG straightened her waist coat yet again. “Because once in my lifetime is quite enough.”

“For once we are agreed Agent Wells,” Kipling said from his desk as he checked his mustache in a small hand held mirror.

“Victoria didn’t fall for your charms HG when you saved her life?” McShane teased as he brushed a bit of lint of his military uniform.

“Hardly,” HG rolled her eyes. “Even I am not up to such a task.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Wolcott finished organizing the top of his desk and stood.

“Your faith in me is ever a source of comfort,” Helena smiled.

“If you are quite done with this love fest,” Agent Donnelly chided. “They are ready for us out on the landing.  Rosebery has arrived.”

 

It was rare for the governing body of the country where a Warehouse was housed to request an official visit.  But each was allowed one visit every 50 years.  Given the recent upswing in activity, the Queen had decided an assessment  was in order.

So she sent her Prime Minister.

Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee was couple of year off and the exhaustive preparations had already begun. Chataranga had warned that the staff of Warehouse 12 would most likely be pressed into service.

HG wished that she would be on a mission, hopefully abroad, when that celebration occurred.

 

“If this is the preparation,” HG mumbled to Wolcott and Donnelly as they stood in line waiting to receive the PM, “I hate to see a formal occasion.”

“It’s not so bad,” Rebecca replied.  Her years spent as part of the diplomatic corps had well prepared her for such a visit.

“It could be far worse,” Wolcott adjusted his cap. He had chosen to wear his formal police uniform for the occasion. “This is McGivens third visit with a head of state. And I hear that the Czar was not quite his lackadaisical on his tours.”

“Third?” HG’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“A story for another time,” Rebecca smiled.

It was one thing to hide boredom during a formal situation. HG was well versed in that form of subterfuge. It was another to hide recognition of an ally.

“Prime Minster,” she uncharacteristically  stuttered, shocked that she knew this man from Oscar Wilde’s circle. Even Kipling noticed her foible.

“May I present one of our most talent Agents,” McGivens’ tone remained smooth, “HG Wells.”

“As in the author?”  He quirked a brow. “I thought you’d be,” he paused. “Taller.”

“Ever so sorry to disappoint,” Helena replied.

“From what I’ve heard,” the Prime Minster paused, “you are far from a,” pause, “disappointment.”

“Thank you sir,” HG willed herself not to blush or comment further.  She could feel Kipling’s glare and how Wolly barely managed to suppress a chuckle she would never know.  McShane would tease her for months.

 

Hours later, after dinner with Charles and tucking Christina to bed, HG found herself cornered at The Old Bell.  By Agent Holcomb of all people.

“I never imaged you the sort to travel in Primrose’s circles.”

“We all have our youthful indiscretions,” HG replied as all eyes fell on her.

“Come on HG,” McShane goaded, “One story. I hear that the Prime Minster is a bit of a poofter.”

“I doubt his wife would agree.” HG replied.

Helena let the jokes and jeers take over, knowing that the conversation would drift away from the Prime Minister and his personal life. Yes, Archibald Primrose fancied both men and women that was true. But knowing how difficult a life that was the Agent refrained from further comment.

 

“I surprised you don’t have a tale to share,” Kipling, of all people, was out back enjoying a smoke when HG stepped out for a breather.

“I thought this evening called for discretion,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “Archie is not a bad man. Not at heart.”

“Hmm,” Kipling puffed for a moment. “I hardly think you are the best judge of character in this area Agent Wells.”

“Better than most,” she challenged immediately.

“Just because you and Primrose share that, predilection, doesn’t mean you are the same,” Kipling snubbed out his cigarette and stood. “Keep that in mind.”

 

“Are you ever going to reveal how you knew the Prime Minister,” Wolly asked as he scanned the chess board some time later.

“No,” HG leaned back, plotting her options. The Times with its headline of “No Confidence Vote of the PM”  blazoned across  the top tossed aside for the evening.

HG sighed.

“You are one of my dearest friends,” Helena looked up from the board. “But I cannot share that information.”

After a moment of study, he gasped.

“Is he?”

“Perhaps,” Helena grimaced. “But I prefer not to know. So if you please,” she gestured towards the board.  “Let us focus on this game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And ICYMI there's a request/opportunity going on right now with my craytastic The Vodka Made Me Do It series. To sum things up, leave me some feedback/ideas for chapter 100 of that fic because the open sign is on.


	15. But I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We wait. The Regents have an interest in the possibility of time travel becoming a reality. Can you imagine,” he added. “Can you imagine the possibilities? Stopping Paracelsus alone would be worth it.”  
> “But at what cost?”  
> McGivens didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Chapter 13 regarding the relationship of Kipling and HG set during the final years before the Bronze.

_“Because I’m a woman,” HG grumbled._

_“Was I not partnered with a woman for the past 15 years Wells?” Kipling gripped the handles of his chair. “That has never been the issue.”_

_“Then what has?” Chataranga pressed._

 

Kipling looked down for a moment to compose himself while the others waited.

“In a word,” he finally said, meeting HG’s eyes. “You.”

He raised a hand as protests arose from those assembled.

“I know you,” Kipling explained, “A stunning intellect wrapped in hubris that hides a dearth of experience.  When I read the report of your first retrieval, the Marquis de Sade’s crop, I knew. To go after such a dangerous artifact so soon into your time with the Warehouse.” He sighed, “Foolhardy.”

“We had never met before I joined the Warehouse,” HG scowled. “You do not know me.”

“I know your type,” Kipling didn’t back down. “You remind me so much of a young man I once knew. He was a surgeon and a researcher. Quite gifted in many ways. And for a time he was celebrated amongst his peers for his discoveries. But then his young wife died suddenly. And he couldn’t accept the death of the one thing he loved above everything else. So that young man decided he must find the secret to life itself.  Because he would be the one to who could pierce the barrier between life and death.”

“Oh my God,” HG clutched grasped the locket at her neck. “You knew?”

“Victor,” Kipling nodded. “I did. It was the case that brought me to the Warehouse. And the artifact that he created.  The creation that had to be destroyed. “

Kipling’s eyes grew hard. “I recognized the same cocksure walk and sense of invincibility from the start.  And realized that despite Agent Donnelly’s influence your ways were well ingrained in who you are.”

“Those very same qualities you deride,” HG protested “have made me a top Agent. I fail to see why being confident in one’s abilities is a crime.”

“It’s not,” Kipling admitted. “Until Shanghai happened. Or perhaps Budapest. Or even the incident in Kiev. Incidents that put bystanders in peril and almost resulted in Agent injuries.”

“Everything turned out fine,” HG huffed.

“But they show a pattern of increasing reckless behavior.” Kipling protested.  He turned to Chataranga and McGivens. “How can you not see how Paris has affected Agent Wells? How can you still consider her for Caretaker of the new Warehouse?”

“And how do you know about Warehouse 13?” McGivens, red from anger asked.

Kipling turned to HG. “She was my partner for 15 years. I know a great many things.”

 

“So what was decided,” McShane asked over a pint well after the meeting.

“From what HG told me not much,” Wolcott stared at his glass. “She will still have to appear before The Regents next week and has been relegated to inventory until then.”

“And what of Kipling,” Patel sipped his beer.

“He and Lewis are off in search of a mirror,” McShane explained. “I overheard Chataranga going over the case this afternoon.”

The three men sat silently for a moment, lost in their concern for their friend.

 

“What are we to do Barnabas,” Chataranga asked his old partner turned Caretaker.  “She continues a downward spiral.”

The pair watched from the balcony as HG worked on the skeleton of what was to be her Time Machine.

“We wait. The Regents have an interest in the possibility of time travel becoming a reality. Can you imagine,” he added. “Can you imagine the possibilities? Stopping Paracelsus alone would be worth it.”

“But at what cost?”

McGivens didn’t answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the playlist (because there always is inspirational music): http://8tracks.com/mfangeleeta/wells-and-wolcott


	16. And separate me from the goats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did I ever tell you the story of Wolly, Bull and I on the hunt in St. Louis?”  
> “No,” Myka smiled as she followed the older woman into the Warehouse proper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot with this update. Verdi Requiem on repeat, the desire to introduce some new characters/story ideas and because it's a spin off, vodka (so hot mess ahead). There are a couple of ideas here that I want to expand upon in later updates. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and as always, share your thoughts!

HG was glad she had already attended this concert series with Christina and Charles because it was truly beautiful.  Verdi deserved 100 percent of her attention.

And being part of the team hunting down a William Wallace artifact didn’t allow her to focus on the Requiem before her.  She stood next to Wolcott on a catwalk above the chorus, hidden from audience view. 

“I am glad this 20th anniversary performance is so well received,” William whispered as the Kyrie began. 

“Even Protestants such as us have to acknowledge Verdi’s beauty,” HG smiled. 

“I think you’re a bit biased.”

“Do you disagree with my assessment?”

“Not at all.”

“Who knew both McShane and Patel had such angelic voices?” Wolcott grinned at the two Agents turned chorus members. 

“And here I thought all they were only good for selections from _The Scottish Students Handbook_ ,” HG smirked.

“One of your favorites too, if I remember I most recent visit to The Old Bell correctly.” William teased.

“Really Wolly,” HG chided, “that was only because I lost a bet.”

“Fair enough,” he pushed off from the rail he’d been leaning on. “But I couldn’t help but notice how quickly you came up with that little ditty.”

HG shook her head.

“Come on,” he motioned towards the ladder at the end of the walk. “There’s nothing up here. Let’s check in downstairs.”

 

HG had to admit she enjoyed these involved cases. The ones where all, or almost all, of the available agents worked together as a team. She and Wolcott had worked with McShane and Holcomb twice, Kipling and Donnelly once, but never the complete team.

And this Wallace curiosity, with its power to kill so broadly, was a high priority for the Regents and the Warehouse.  There were several agents she knew only in passing that were part of the group on the hunt. Crowley had apprenticed the same time as Kipling but the men were not close. Dodgson, who only worked every now and then due to his age, had been called in as backup. She had discussed mathematics off and on as the team prepared for the case but he was quite odd and the rumors that swirled around him distasteful.

Her fellow recruits, Agents Carter and Bullworth too were being employed for this mission.  She confided in Wolly and Rebecca early in her tenure that she was stunned they had been selected.  But over the past five years or so they had proven their worth many times over. 

She would forever be grateful to “The Bull” for his assistance in Madrid last summer.

 

“See anything?”

“No,” HG looked up at the mountain of a man. “Wolcott went to check in with Donnelly in the dressing area.

The stood in the wings for a moment, watching and listening.

“I can see why you like this high class stuff,” Bull whispered in his deep cockney accent. “I don’t have a clue as to what they’re singing about, but it’s pretty.”

“It is. I can teach you some time if you’d like.”

Before he could reply the fiery Confutatis started and HG recognized one bang too many in the opening section. Quickly she turned and scanned the back stage area.

“What is it?”

“Come on,” she motioned for her fellow Agent to follow. “I heard something.”

 

Bull and HG nearly crashed into Wolly and Rebecca in one of passageways beneath the stage.

“You heard it too?” HG asked.

“Yes,” Donnelly replied as Wolcott nodded.

The quartet made their way through the dimly lit passage way.

“Does anyone know where this goes?” Wolcott asked.

“It should lead to the street,” Bull replied. “If the blue prints were correct.”

“Bless your memory my giant friend,” HG replied.

 

HG recognized the distant sound of the Sanctus as the group reached the end of the hall. The door to the street had been forced open.  With a nod and Tesla’s drawn, HG reached for the door and pulled it open quickly.

“Bloody hell,” Holcomb shouted.

“Albert? What are you doing in the street,” Donnelly asked.

“I was chasing a suspicious looking person.  I thought I saw him head this direction.”

“We’ve encountered no one save a mangy rat or two,” William holstered his weapon.

“Where’s Crowley?” HG asked.

“With Dodgson checking out the other part of this alley. Thought it best not to leave the old timer on his own.”

“Albert, how long ago did you see this mysterious figure open this door?” HG crossed her arms. Something wasn’t quite right.

“Maybe five minutes ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“We were in sight of the door,” Donnelly looked at her fellow Agents. “It never opened.”

“It’s not the Wallace,” Bull nodded. “Nothing in the files about invisibility.”

HG recognized the opening of the Libre Me. 

“We are running out of time to solve this mystery. The final portion of the Requiem has started.”

“Bull,” Wolly stepped forward, “can you recall in detail what the Wallace artifact does? It’s description.”

“Hold on” the large Agent paused, scanning his memories.  HG marveled at how a street brawler from Cheapside had the incredible ability of a photographic memory.

“There are two pieces,” Bulls eyes widened. “They work together.”

“And one is already in the Warehouse.” Bull frowned. “It was in the fine print. I missed it.”

“How is that possible?” Wolcott asked.

“Bifurcated artifacts only work when both parts are active. And if one is in the Warehouse…” Donnelly began.

“This can’t be the Wallace artifact.” HG shook her head. “This has all been a test.”

“Very good Agent Wells,” McGivens’ voice caused the group to spin around.  The Caretaker stood at the end of the alleyway in tux and tails.

“You set us up,” Wolcott shook his head.

“There was never any threat.” Donnelly added.

“Correct.” McGivens nodded.  “From time to time we need to test the skill set of our Agents and see who  will work best together. You five, along with McShane and Patel have proven an exceptional group.”

“Well that’s nice to know,” Wolcott murmured.

“And that is why you will be leaving for the United States in a fortnight.” McGivens took a moment to make eye contact with each agent. “There is a growing situation on that continent that requires our attention. And our top Agents will be required to deal with these curiosities.”

 

Hours later the septet shared a pint at the Old Bell.

“If anything,” Wolcott said to HG as they procured another round, “Kipling’s not part of our group.”

“I suppose,” HG agreed to placate her partner. Six months away from her daughter was going to be difficult to say the least.

 

 

Many years later…

Helena looked down at the clipboard and shook her head. Of all the artifacts to inventory today, nearly 123 years later to the day.

“You gave me this list on purpose,” she looked over at Artie.

“Mrs. Fredric suggested you be the one to check on that section.”

Myka read over her shoulder, reading the list.

“Oh,” her eyebrows rose. “I remember reading the files on those.”

“Did you now,” HG glanced over at her wife. “I’ll have you know those files have been greatly,” she paused. “Let’s just say they don’t hold all the details.”

“Really?”

“Did I ever tell you the story of Wolly, Bull and I on the hunt in St. Louis?”

“No,” Myka smiled as she followed the older woman into the Warehouse proper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you need a mental image of The Bull, think of Jaime standing next to the guy who played The Mountain in this season's Game of Thrones. Except with less brutal murder.


	17. The Hard Knock Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I still think you should have been our fighter.” HG glanced up the tall Agent.  
> “Would you fight me?” Bull raised an eyebrow.  
> “Point taken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first installment of the Warehouse 12 crew and their adventures in retrievals in 1890s America. I'm planning on having a few in this series (though I can't promise they will all be one right after the other).
> 
> Thanks again for reading and please let me know what you think!

“This is barbarism,” Agent Donnelly grumbled as she followed Bull and HG into the small hallway at the back of the saloon.  HG chuckled as the senior Agent made a face as they stepped over a passed out man that reeked of cheap rot gut.

“I told you Bull and I could handle this retrieval Rebecca,” HG shot the man approaching her a sour look, causing him to look elsewhere.

“But you would miss the endless wonders of this new country,” Bull rumbled from above them. “And the chance to see McShane fight.”

“I still think you should have been our fighter.” HG glanced up the tall Agent.

“Would you fight me?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

“Point taken.”

 

“Good evening,” a pug nosed man with a ruddy face stepped in front of the trio as soon as they entered the back room proper. His suit was clean but about five years behind the current fashions.

As were many things in the Americas.

“All apologies ladies,” the man bowed a bit, “but this is a gentlemen’s only club.”

HG fought an eye roll.

“They are with me,” Bull stepped forward.

“Well,” the man looked up and swallowed. “You are quite the large fellow but the rules remain.”

“Perhaps you could see fit to bend them just this once,” HG turned on the charm. “I’ve heard tales of a bare knuckles fellow who could give Jem Mace a what for.” She stepped forward and pulled out several large denomination treasury notes.

“I suppose,” he pulled the bills from her hand. “A change to the rules could be made. Just don’t wander far from your companion.”

“Of course, sir?”

“Mr. Carter.”

“Thank you Mr. Carter,” HG smiled sweetly and followed Bull and Donnelly into the smoky room.

 

“Any sign of Wolcott and Holcomb?” Donnelly asked as the stood on the far side of the room, close to the ring.

“Wolcott is at the bar,” Bull looked over at one of the three undercover Agents on this retrieval.  “Holcomb isn’t here.”

“Must be in the back with McShane,” HG grumbled.  

People hadn’t exaggerated when discussing the bare knuckles boxing king of Fort Defiance.  Johnny Jones, the hero of the Midwest, was a growing legend with an impressive winning streak.  Thanks to the use of Jem Mace’s lucky coin.  It made him unstoppable in the ring and his opponents near death days later

“When does Duncan fight Jones?”

“There are two other bouts before the main event,” Bull explained. 

“We have time then to discover the coin’s whereabouts,” Donnelly looked at the pair, “since we know he doesn’t keep it at this flat.”

With a nod the trio split up.

 

The first fight was well underway when HG slipped next to Wolcott.

“Anything?”

“I suspect Mr. Jones keeps the coin on his person,” Wolly took a sip of his beer.  “This is horrid.”

“Indeed. Are you sure?”

“Albert and I spent many hours in celebration with the lad three evenings ago. We both observed something reflect light when he opened the top of his shirt to breathe a bit as the night went on.”

“He’s made it a necklace?”

“Possibly.”

 

The second fight was drawing to a close when HG met up with Donnelly.

“I have never been propositioned so many times in my life,” Donnelly sighed. “And I spent ten years as part of Her Majesty’s diplomatic corps.”

HG laughed at her friend’s exasperation. 

“Anyone Henry should worry about?”

“Please HG,” Rebecca scowled. “My husband will never have anything to worry about.”

“Fair enough.  Wolcott thinks that Jones wears the coin as a necklace.”

“I agree with the assessment. Several regular patrons have noticed him taking the object off before key fights.”

“That will make things more…challenging.”

 

 

In the end they had to improvise to ensure that McShane did not enter the ring with Jones while he was under the coin’s influence.

HG (playing a role she despised but excelled) pit Bull and Wolcott against each other for her affections. She soon involved other men in the hall so much so that a fight broke out as soon as the main event combatants entered the room.

The rolling and swirling mass of mayhem allowed Rebecca to fall against Jones, brushing against his nearly bare chest in accident.

 

 

“Well,” Wolcott dapped his split lip with his handkerchief, “another successful retrieval in the Colonies.” He looked over at this fellow agents, sprawled out on the dirt sidewalk in front of the bar. They had all been tossed out by Mr. Carter and his assistants before the main event began.

“This time with only minor injuries,” Bull joked, leaned back on the wall of the building.

“To you,” Wolcott frowned. “This is my favorite pocket square.”

“May I request for the next retrieval that I might not play the tart,” HG brushed her waistcoat, crossing her legs in front of her.  

“But you do it so well.”

Wolcott’s joke was met with a stern glare.

“Well I for one will be glad to bid Ohio adieu,” Donnelly stood as to not soil her dress further.  She held up small purple cloth bag that contained the artifact.  “The Dakotas must be better than this.”

“And here’s our motley crew,” Albert’s joyful tone caused the others to groan.

“How did the match go?” HG asked.

“As to be expected,” the senior most Agent beamed with pride. “Duncan knocked him cold in the first round.  He was his division’s boxing champion for three years you know.”

“You don’t say,” Wolcott’s sarcasm caused the others to laugh.

“We’re just finishing up here so we will meet you back at the boarding house.” Albert tipped his hat and headed back inside.

“The Dakotas,” Bull commented.

“There is an curiosity causing trouble in the settlement of Featherhead,” Donnelly explained. “Chataranga’s letter believed it was related to a Sioux Indian artifact.”

Helena’s thoughts drifted to the last conversation she’d had with McGivens before leaving for America.

 

_“The Warehouse will be moving soon,” the Caretaker explained._

_“To America?”_

_“Possibly.”_

_“I would ask a favor,” McGivens looked slightly uneasy. “For the Regents.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“If you find any suitable locations that could accommodate the Warehouse at its current size with room to expand, please cable me immediately.”_

_“We will keep our eyes open then,” HG nodded._

_“No, you misunderstand me Helena.  Only locations that you feel are suitable.”_

_“Me? Why myself alone?”_

_“The Regents have requested it.”_


	18. They know your secrets and you know theirs, this town is crazy; nobody cares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have not met the new Agents yet Helena.” He sighed. “Have you smelt fudge in the last 24 hours?”  
> “We are surrounded by the smell of fudge,” HG rolled her eyes. “You and I were completing inventory when Chaturanga happened upon us with the new recruits. Nicola was thrilled to finally be a full time member of the Warehouse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a sort of flash forward from the mini series set in America with this update. It references a couple of past chapters as well. It's been a bit of a bear to get going so I hope it works. Please let me know and thanks for reading.

HG stood in front of the shelf inventory documents in hand with her ever present shadow Wolcott at the end of the aisle.  She had been taken out of the field for a month thanks to her altercation with Kipling.

The senior Agent had requested to not be present when the three new agents would be introduced to the remaining members of the Warehouse 12 team.  Patel and Bull were grave losses and Rebecca was irreplaceable.  There was no way they were ready to move on but the Regents had insisted with the turning of the century about to occur.

But it had been centuries, since 9, when the Warehouse had lost so many Agents at one time (including Agent Carter’s new residence in Bethlem.)

But at least he was still alive, unlike the rest. HG made a note to go visit her fellow trainee next weekend when she was free.

 

She was so lost in thought that HG failed to hear the sound of footsteps and voices as they made their way down a nearby aisle.

“Helena?”

HG took a deep breath, recognizing the accented voice from her time in America.

“Helena Wells!” Nicola’s voice boomed across the floor. “I should have known!”

“Hello Nicola,” HG greeted with a smile. “I knew it would be just a matter of time before you joined us officially.”

Her fellow inventor and scientist grinned. “This place is a marvel.”

“It is indeed.”

“And these are your fellow new recruits?” HG nodded towards the other man and woman standing next to Chataranga.

“Miss Wells may I present Mr. Elijah Pickering and Mrs. Agnes Kensington.”

“HG Wells at your service,” she reached out her hand.

“The author?” Pickering’s eyes grew wide.

“With my brother.”

“I am quite the fan!” he turned excitedly to his fellow recruit “Wells and Kipling?  What other giants of literature lurk beneath these walls?”

“Just us at the moment.”  HG reached out to shake Agent Kensington’s hand.

The women locked eyes for a moment and senior Agent felt as if time seemed to slow.  After a moment she breathed and released her grip.

“You are a clairvoyant,” HG looked over at Chataranga.

“Yes,” the other woman replied. “How did you know?”

“A case from several years ago. When I shook hands with the man we were after I had the same sensation.”

“It is a gift that both my sister and I share.” Agent Kensington drawled.

“And it will be an asset to the Warehouse,” Chataranga chimed in, breaking the rising tension.  “There will be plenty of time to get further acquainted. Come now, let us complete this tour and get started on the paperwork.”

“What was that about?” Wolcott asked as he reached her side.

“Our newest Agents.”

“It will be nice to work with Nicola again,” William looked over at his partner.

“Indeed.”

“And the rest?”

“Americans.”

“Really? I suppose the rumors are true then about closing up shop on Warehouse 12.”

“And you are so sure after our six months spent in the Colonies years ago that the United States will be our new home?”

“They are a rising power.”

“But the sun has not set yet on the Empire,” HG looked up at the taller man with a smirk, “or on this bloody inventory.”

 

Hours later (after completing inventory and a shared dinner at The Old Bell with Wolcott and McShane) HG found herself back at Warehouse 12 bent over the nearly working model of her Time Machine. With Nicola now officially part of the Warehouse she would be able to pick his brain on a sustainable power source other than artifacts.

“A late night Agent Wells?”

HG nearly dropped the soldering iron, cursing herself for leaving the door to her workshop open.

“I find it’s the only time to work properly Agent Kensington.”

“And what are you working on tonight?”

“A side project of my own,” HG pulled offer her goggles and positioned herself between the door and the model.  “Are you sure you should be wandering the rows unsupervised?”

“Thank you for your concern,” The older woman gave HG a wry smile, “But I am quite comfortable. I have a photographic memory and am retracing our path from earlier today.  Your door wasn’t open then.”

HG felt time stretch again as she waited for the other woman to speak.

“I will leave you to it then,” Agent Kensington stepped back out into the Warehouse proper.

HG quickly moved to close the door.

“Oh and Agent Wells,” the clairvoyant stopped and turned around slightly. “Nicola has a solution for the power source to your Time Machine.”

HG’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Enjoying fighting for your lost cause,” with a smirk she turned and rounded the corner out of sight

 

“HG!”

“HG!”

Wolcott rolled his eyes. His partner had fallen asleep yet again in her workshop.

“HG do wake up,” he shook the woman’s shoulder.

“What is it Wolly,” HG raised her head slowly.

“It’s nearly nine. Time for the morning meeting.” He stepped back and assessed his friend.

“Tell Chataranga I’ll meet him later,” HG sat up fully and stretched.

“We are meeting the new Agents this morning Helena,” Wolly scowled. “You know as well as I that all Agents must be present unless on a mission.”

“What are you talking about?” HG stood. “We met them yesterday while in the aisles.”

Wolcott gave her a perplexed look. “Are you feeling well?”

“I am fine,” HG huffed. She looked at her partner. “Why do you look as if I’ve been affected by an artifact?”

“We have not met the new Agents yet Helena.” He sighed. “Have you smelt fudge in the last 24 hours?”

“We are surrounded by the smell of fudge,” HG rolled her eyes. “You and I were completing inventory when Chataranga happened upon us with the new recruits. Nicola was thrilled to finally be a full time member of the Warehouse.”

“Nikola? Nikola Tesla?”

“Yes.”

“Helena,” Wolcott looked concerned. “Nikola is in New York working as a consultant for Westinghouse Electric.”

“Impossible! I spoke with him yesterday not three rows over.”

“And who else did you speak with yesterday? Other than Nikola?”

“Well,” HG thought for a moment. “You, Chataranga, a new Agent named Pickering and the clairvoyant something Kensington.”

“Kensington?” Wolcott gasped. “Agnes Kensington?”

“Yes.” HG smirked, “You met her yesterday as well.”

“I’ve never met Agent Kensington,” Wolcott explained. “She died in the early years of Warehouse 12.”

“Impossible!”

“It’s true,” Wolcott began to scan the workshop. “Have you ‘borrowed’ any artifacts lately as part of your experiments? I swear that I will not tell Chataranga.”

“I am not so foolish as to test the patience of the Regents further William.”

“Very well.” He sighed. “Come then. We still have to meet the new Agents.”

 

HG gave a slight frown as the three new Agents Patrick, Withers and Bonnell were introduced to the team.  The three men had come from different parts of the Empire, not America.

“Not quite what you expected?” McShane asked when the meeting had ended.

“Not at all.”

 

That afternoon found HG and Wolcott in the aisle they had inventoried the previous day.  Or what had been the previous day to HG. The pair had gone though HG’s workshop after the meeting, not seeing any wayward artifacts that could have caused HG’s loss of time.

“Agent Wells.”

HG jumped at the Caretaker’s sudden appearance.

“Yes Mr. McGivens?”

“I understand that you spoke with Agent Kensington?”

“How did you…” she cast a quick look in Wolcott’s direction.

“Agent Wolcott did not tell me,” McGivens paused.

McGivens motioned for HG to follow as they walked out of earshot.

“Agnes was my partner in the early years of Warehouse 12,” McGivens explained. “Very skilled in the craft of artifact retrieval. She was also clairvoyant which helped a great deal when cases arrived at an impasse.”

“So what happened?”

“A weak heart. She collapsed one day while doing inventory.”

“Her death wasn’t artifact related?”

“You well know that not all Agents leave the Warehouse because of artifacts Helena.”

“Yes sir.”

“Since her passing she has been known to visit during times of great duress for the Warehouse.”

“Well I would say losing four Agents would qualify.”

“But she did not visit myself or Chataranga as she had done previously. She visited you Helena.”  He stopped walking and turned to face her. “What was her message?”

HG swallowed. “Nothing of importance, really.  We talked of moving the Warehouse mostly.”

McGivens studied her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Helena I was wondering,” Wolcott came around the corner, causing HG to turn away from the Caretaker for a moment.

“Yes Mr. Wolcott?”

 

“Were you talking with someone?”

She spun around to empty space.

“Blast.”

 

 

“Agnes has seen fit to visit Agent Wells,” McGivens spoke, causing Chataranga to stop his work. The chess lock was a delicate design and would require his full attention.

“So your thoughts about her future seem to be once again validated,” Chataranga motioned to his ever present tea service. McGivens nodded and took his customary seat across in front of the tinker’s desk.

“If she is to be the new Caretaker of Warehouse 13 she must begin her training.” McGivens took his tea from the other man, smiling after the first sip.

“But she is still plagued with her hopeless quest to master time travel.” Chataranga sat down at his desk. “What did Agnes tell Agent Wells?”

“I’m not sure,” McGivens replied. “Wells was not forthcoming before Wolcott interrupted us.”

“I still believe we should pursue other options,” the inventor shuffled the endless folders stacked on his desk. “There are a pair of sisters, former slaves that Patel spoke to during his time in America that have great potential.”

“The Regents are keeping all options open.” McGivens set his half empty cup down. “But Wells is still their top choice.” He stood. “And mine. There is no Agent among us who has the foresight that she does and the ability to adapt over time. “

“If only she could forget about the past,” Chataranga replied to the empty office.


	19. Pale runs the ghost swollen on the shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The temperatures might be an improvement but the terrain and the locals were not. Wolcott and McShane did most of the talking. Helena left to observe the disapproving looks and stage whispers over her attire and attitude. Patel, Holcomb, Bull and Donnelly had been sent to New Orleans because the city was slightly more hospitable that rural Georgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment of Wells and Wolcott in America found in chapters 16 and 17.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

HG knelt down to examine the red dirt closely. Less than 30 years ago this dusty field had been the scene of a bloody skirmish as Sherman had made his way to the sea.

Now it was said to be haunted by the fallen soldiers from both sides the Colonies’ civil war. No crops would grow, objects left in the field would be found days later mangled and destroyed. Animals that happened to linger in the rough circle fared no better.

She had been glad to escape the cold reaches of that small community in the Dakotas. Patel had fallen in love with snow while Holcomb recovered from his injury. But Helena had found no solace during the long nights spent away from her daughter.

And the feeling that this moment would not be the most critical spent in Univille.

 

The temperatures might be an improvement but the terrain and the locals were not. Wolcott and McShane did most of the talking. Helena left to observe the disapproving looks and stage whispers over her attire and attitude. Patel, Holcomb, Bull and Donnelly had been sent to New Orleans because the city was slightly more hospitable that rural Georgia.

_“Dark skin of any sort is not looked upon fondly,” Holcomb had explained._

_“Someday one’s skin tone and gender will not matter,” Wolcott said in an attempt to console HG._

_“But that day is not today,” HG groused as she cut through the ever expanding Atlanta rail yards, not bothering to watch her fellow Agent’s train headed west._

 

“What do you think?” Wolcott asked.  “Should we gather a soil sample?”

“That won’t help if the artifact is buried underground,” McShane knelt down and pulled out what looked like a bit of a leather strap.  “This is a battlefield.  They’ll be pulling out remains for decades to come.”

“If not longer,” HG stood. “Do we know how far the affected area stretches?”

“From what I was able to gather the line seems to end that stump over there,” Wolcott pointed to the remains of a tree some 50 yards away.  “Where the grass begins to grow in full.”

“I suggest we return to the inn,” HG scanned the fallow ground. “And rest. Tonight is a full moon. We will return at dusk and observe from what will hopefully be a safe distance.”

“And see just want kind of curiosity is at play,” Wolcott nodded.

“If it is that,” McShane added.

 

After speaking to the inn’s proprietor Mr. O’Hara, Helena retired to her room to attempt to rest. She knew that the night before them would be a long one and would require her best observational skills.

“Agent Wells.”

Helena gasped and spun.

“Mr. McGivens!”  She clutched the locket at her chest. “You startled me.”

“Apologies,” he dipped his head, “how goes the hunt?”

“It is,” she paused, “challenging. The community is resistant, the specter of war still looms.” She chuckled. “McShane believes this is not a mere artifact.”

“Indeed,” McGivens moved to the window and looked out over the small town.  “And what of your other adventures in the Colonies?”

“They have been fine.” HG quirked a brow. “As I’m sure you’ve read from our correspondence.”

McGivens smiled.  “And what of your stay in South Dakota?”

“It was…”and for a moment Helena was without words. 

“It was what Agent Wells?”

“Disturbing and comforting.” She finally said.

“You thought it a possible location for a Warehouse?”

“Yes.”

Helena turned, to hang her long coat on the hook by the door.  “I must wonder Mr. McGivens why you are so interested in what I think about the future of the Warehouse…”

She turned and trailed off. The Caretaker had disappeared.

“Bollocks.”

 

 

“Is all this necessary?” McShane asked as tied the end of the rope to a spike he’d driven into the ground.

“It is,” Helena scratched behind the goat’s ear. “We need some sort of enticement to bring the artifact forth. I have rigged the rope to break at the first hard pull.”

“And what if the animal runs before anything of interest occurs?” Wolcott asked.

“Then we will procure another animal and return tomorrow.” Helena explained.  “Though I suspect tonight will be all that we require.”

Helena watched several hours later as the goat was swept into a crowd of what appeared to be-for lack of a better word-ghosts. The men howled and attacked without mercy.

She had more pressing concerns as she watched both Wolcott and then McShane be subdued by the vengeful spirits of the area. The moon was bright but there was no discernible source of the activity or artifact.

McShane appeared to be right.

And Wolcott had misjudged the barrier by three feet.

She thought of her darling girl home in London. It would be early afternoon and Charles would be starting Christina’s lessons.  Sophie would be smiling fondly at the pair as she readied her list for the market.  Chataranga would be enjoying his first cuppa of the afternoon as he puzzled over another new riddle in the Warehouse.

 “No,” she growled as the specter approached.  “I will not die here today.”

“Helena,” Wolcott shouted, drawing her attention to a shimmering object half buried in the ground.

The phantom shrieked and swept towards her in a fury.  She ducked under its sword, pulling her gun from her belt and pulled the trigger, closing her eyes at the explosion of light.

“That was too close,” McShane held a handkerchief to his head.

“Indeed,” HG replied, accepting Wolcott’s assistance in standing. When she had destroyed the object the deadly figures had howled and disappeared.

“We can return in the morning,” Wolcott began to hobble towards town. “And collect what remains of the curiosity.”

“Agreed,” McShane and HG replied in unison.

 

“Are you sure this is where the curiosity was?” McShane squatted down.

“The scorch marks lead to that spot,” Wolcott observed. “I’m sure of it.”

HG crossed her arms over her chest as she scanned the area. It was just before noon. The sun was high and the sky was clear.

Other than a spike and a burned trail in the dirt there was no record of what had transpired the night before.

The artifact had been destroyed.

Or disappeared.

“Hold on,” Wolcott stepped closer to the tree stump from the day prior. “What’s this?”

He dug for a moment and pulled out what appeared to be part of a journal.

“Do you think this is what you saw last night?”

“Possible,” HG reached for the book. Many of the pages appeared to be destroyed or illegible.

“Shall we test then to see if it’s an artifact?”

McShane pulled out a small vile of purple liquid from his coat.

The trio squinted as the curiosity sparked.

“Well that settles that then,” Wolcott took the curiosity from McShane. “Let’s get this bagged up then.”

Helena’s eyes swept the area once more, shivering as the sun beamed down on the bright early spring day.

As she followed her friends out of the circle she thought of the line she’d managed to read in the burned and damaged journal.  She hoped that she would never feel the hopelessness that one solider must have know as he waited for this battle to begin.

_“The ink in which our lives are inscribed is indelible.”_


	20. With a discreet hand I relieved all the misfortunes I encountered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should have realized (Wolcott noted in his journal) that all was not as well as appeared to be. HG refused to go into any detail regarding the capturing of the cape. I suppose the final report that was filed would contain the details but only McGivens has access to the unedited product.  
> And that is assuming that that the truth of what happened in that unsavory establishment was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a visit to Warehouse 12 and my favorite two Agents, Wells and Wolcott. You could say this is the direct follow up to chapter 1 of The Vodka Made Me Do It but set before chapters 13 & 15 (the two part) and 18 aka the descent into madness years.
> 
> I change cannon a bit with this too. Christian was alive during the Joshua Trumpet case and Team 13 know HG was an Agent from the start. 
> 
> Oh and guest appearance from a character found in Roadie's exceptional The Long Way Home. 
> 
> There's a lot going on so please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.

HG followed Wolcott through the dim streets desperately trying to push the turbulent emotions away. They were on the hunt and despite all that she knew and felt the Agent needed a clear head and her best instincts.

The first summer of the 20th century had been surprisingly mild.  HG wore a simple vest and trousers, her hair pulled back in its typical fashion. Wolly was dressed much the same way, with two top buttons open to help his body breathe. She drew the usual looks and whispers at her attire but time was of the essence and skirts would weight her down in a fight.

Glancing at her partner’s handsome features she hoped that he would someday find something to bring him happiness. A person to bring him a family to love.

Because she had learned the summer prior that the Warehouse would never be that home. But endless wonder could (and would hopefully) provide endless opportunity to correct that misfortune.

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to take in the Puccini while it was here,” Wolly nodded towards a faded playbill posted from Covent Garden.  “Especially with the composer in residence. McShane was moved to tears.”

“He would be,” HG scowled.

Wolcott slowed his pace at the dismissive reply. “Are you well?”

“Quite.”

“Helena,” Wooly nearly stopped walking. “I will not think any less of you if you’re not ready for this case.  I know Italy was difficult…”

“That is precisely why we must continue,” HG cut him off.  “If I am ever to regain a modicum of sanity I need this,” she sighed. “I need to be an Agent again. The rest will sort itself out later.”

“Besides,” she sighed. “I am the only person other than Crowley that knows these Ripper artifacts well. And I doubt his pile of ashes will be very much help.”

“Really Helena!”

“I am sorry to offend Wolly but you know it’s true.”

“Fine,” he looked over at his partner of nearly a decade. On the surface she appeared to be the stalwart companion he had known these many years. But the specter of Christina’s death still haunted his friend.  She had slowly been closing herself off from those most dear at the Warehouse.

If only Agent Donnelly was still alive, he thought as he followed HG into Whitechapel proper. She would know precisely how to reach his friend. But she had been killed during retrieval years ago.

Wolcott knew that his partner still had many contacts in this less desirable section of the city. Hopefully one of them could provide a clue to the curiosity’s whereabouts.

Carlotta was excited as always to see HG (perhaps a bit too excited by Wolcott’s estimation). He discreetly turned away while the women shared their hellos and Helena asked their questions. 

 

“From what we know,” HG adjusted her vest as they headed further into Whitechapel, “there is no clear motive for these abductions or murders. Carlotta and her friends have heard of a certain establishment that caters to a specific clientele that might be able to shed more light on the possible owner of this artifact.”

“Do we need to contact Chataranga for reinforcements?”  He asked.

“Not yet,” HG reached up and let her hair down. “I have visited the business that Carlotta spoke of in the past. Meet me back at the Warehouse in two hours and I will have the answers we need.”

 

Three hours later Wolcott was beside himself with worry.  McShane and Patel had joined him in the offices of the Warehouse while Chataranga spoke with McGivens about the case.  The Ripper’s cape was nowhere near as powerful as the lantern but it was just as deadly. 

Given Helena’s demeanor as of late Wolcott wondered if she might not take this route out of her pain.

“When does Kipling return?” Patel asked as they waited.

“Later tonight,” McShane replied. “He won’t be keen to help us track down HG.”

“We need all senior Agents on this,” Wolcott replied. “I’ll make sure he lends a hand.”

McShane chuckled. “Going to finally pull in that favor from San Francisco?”

“If need be.”

“I hardly think that is necessary Wolly,” a disheveled HG replied.  “I have the cape and am relatively unscathed.”

“Bloody hell HG,” McShane stood and took the artifact, “you had us worried.”

“I am well,” she smiled at the men. “Truly. All I require is a hot bath a perhaps a late supper and I will be fine.”

 

 

_I should have realized (Wolcott noted in his journal) that all was not as well as appeared to be. HG refused to go into any detail regarding the capturing of the cape.  I suppose the final report that was filed would contain the details but only McGivens has access to the unedited product._

_And that is assuming that that the truth of what happened in that unsavory establishment was told._

 “Find anything,” Pete asked.

“Only that HG Wells was playing both sides at the end,” Myka looked up from her reading. “This Wolcott, his partner, kept meticulous notes right up to his death in World War I.”

“And what did he have to say about public enemy number one?”

“That he was a fantastic Agent,” Myka rubbed the back of her neck, “until someone in his family was killed. Then things began going downhill from there. I surprised he lasted to make it into the Bronze.  From what I’ve read it seems like he had a bit of a death wish.”

“Well saddle up partner,” Pete grinned. “I’ve got our tickets to London. You can ask him yourself when you get there.”


	21. You blame yourself, for what you can’t ignore, you blame yourself for wanting more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She needs help Duncan,” he spoke softly as they hurried through the early morning streets. “She’s needed help for some time now but the Warehouse…”  
> “Only cares for itself,” Duncan agreed. “And only for as long as we prove useful.”  
> Wolcott looked over, surprise written on his face.  
> “Agent Holcomb taught me many things Will,” Duncan replied. “That was the first and foremost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a bit of a darker turn with a look into the final year or so of HG's time with Warehouse 12. She hasn't hit rock bottom just yet but is almost there.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think.

_McGivens had appeared just as Wolcott was about to drift off to sleep._

_“Get dressed,” the Caretaker’s tone was grave.  “And meet us at the Warehouse in 20 minutes.”_

 

That had been hours ago. The sun now peaked above the horizon as Wolcott rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced over at McShane who looked just as weary as they returned to White Chapel in the hopes of news. William had tracked down Carlotta (who now ran an establishment of her own) and asked her to gather her resources in the hunt.

 

_“And how do we know for sure these artifacts have left the building?” Duncan had asked._

_“My connection to Warehouse 12 is stronger than you realize Agent McShane,” McGivens scowled. “They are gone.”_

_“Are there not safeguards for such a thing?” Patel looked at Chataranga. “To prevent an intruder from stealing from the shelves?”_

_“Boy,” Kipling hissed, “the thief is no stranger, it is one of our own.”  He glared at Wolcott. “And where is your partner during this emergency?”_

 

The June day would be a hot one, the hottest of the year so far by his estimate. If anything he hoped to wrap things up before the sun reached its zenith since neither he nor his partner were dressed appropriately for the weather.

None of them were prepared for the events of the previous eight hours.

“We are wasting time with this Carlotta character,” McShane grumbled. “Whores, pick pockets and the like. How do you even know this woman?”

“How do you think?” Wolcott sighed.

 

_“You know her better than anyone else Agent Wolcott,” McGivens voice brokered no argument.   “What is her current state of mind?”_

_Wolcott tightened his jaw._

_“You’re loyalty is appreciated,” Chataranga added, “But now is not the time. The Cape, the Lantern, the Crop and the Jacks are all missing. Alone each is fearsome enough, but together they could be devastating.”_

_“For one person,” Kipling muttered._

_“What was that Agent Kipling?” McGivens glanced over at the senior Agent._

_“Those are all artifacts that are designed for use on a single person. I doubt there is a way they could be used for a larger effect. This is something personal.”_

 

Carlotta had explained (for the second time in as many hours) that one of her girls had been talking to a dock hand a few hours ago. The young man had prattled on about a posh carriage that had pulled up to one of the little used warehouses along the dock. The strangest part was that a small man that had been driving the team led the passengers into the building with a lantern.

Three large blokes that seemed mesmerized by the golden lantern light.

Wolcott prayed that they somehow managed to beat Patel and Kipling to the scene. How they had stumbled into White Chapel he would never know. He did know that if the Senior Agent reported back to McGivens all hope for Helena’s rehabilitation would be lost.

“She needs help Duncan,” he spoke softly as they hurried through the early morning streets. “She’s needed help for some time now but the Warehouse…”

“Only cares for itself,” Duncan agreed. “And only for as long as we prove useful.”

Wolcott looked over, surprise written on his face.

“Agent Holcomb taught me many things Will,” Duncan replied. “That was the first and foremost.”

“Hopefully the agents of Warehouse 13 will not face such adversity,” Wolcott replied.

 

_“And what will happen,” Wolcott pulled Chataranga aside before he and McShane sank into the night.  “What will happen to Helena when we find her?”_

_“It will depend on what she has done,” Chataranga replied in his usual calm manner._

_“That is not enough,” Will whispered harshly, “do I need to find HG to send her as far away from London and the Warehouse as possible?”_

_“Why would you,” Chataranga began then stopped. “William, she has stolen artifacts from the shelves which is troublesome enough. If she uses the power held in those artifacts, there is no telling how severe the punishment might be from the Regents.”_

_“People have died at the hand of an artifact in the past.”_

_“But only in rare cases has an Agent been the one wielding the power of an artifact. And those ended with death or worse.”_

 

Chataranga’s ‘or worse’ rang through Wolcott’s head as they approached the building Carlotta described.  A Warehouse issue carriage was out front with a pair of horses content to wait for their return to the stables.

The sun was now above the horizon and other than the screeching of sea birds this area of the wharf was quiet. McShane drew his revolver and pointed to the side of the building where a slightly open door would allow them to get in undetected.

With a nod Wolcott drew his Tesla, a weapon his partner had helped to create and followed the former soldier inside.

Light slipped through the uneven walls allowing for a limited view of the area. Various crates and boxes were stacked or toppled over throughout most of the building. No sounds, save their own breathing were heard.

The only thing out of place was the smell which was a mix of must and something more potent.

Wolcott stumbled, his foot catching on a protruding board.

“Bollocks,” he hissed as the sound ricocheted around the room.

“My God,” McShane rasped, motioning towards what had caused Wolcott’s misstep.

It was a human forearm.

 

 

_“What are you reading there HG?”_

_Helena looked up from the fold, closing it quickly. “Nothing.”_

_“Really,” Wolcott raised an eyebrow. “That looks very much like a police report. Do you have a lead on a curiosity of some sort?”_

_“Perhaps,” HG slid the folder under a stack of papers on her work bench._

_His partner was a master of the sleight of hand, but his sharp eyes had recognized the folder as one from the Paris police._

_Later he had reviewed the report himself, frowning at the lack of results._

_HG would not be pleased that after so many years they had given up the hunt for Christina’s killers._

“Agent Wells,” Wolcott spoke quietly, holstering his Tesla as he approached his partner. “Helena, it’s Agent Wolcott.”

“Wolly,” HG’s hollow voice echoed through the far corner of the building.

 

McShane crept towards the first body on the floor, checking for signs of life.

 

“Yes, Wolly,” he swallowed, pushing down his rolling stomach at the sight of so much blood. “Are you hurt?”

“Hurt,” Helena knelt on the hard packed floor, eyes downcast.  Her long black hair pulled back into a loose, blood covered bun.  “I am not injured.”

 

Wolcott looked over at McShane who shook his head no over what was left of the second body. He reached down and flicked off the lantern.

 

“Who are these,” Wolcott swallowed, “who are these men Helena?”

“Monsters,” she replied, sounding more like her old self.

“What sort of monsters?”

She looked up at met Wolcott’s eyes. He felt himself shudder at the utter darkness that greeted him.

“Those that thought they could escape justice.”

 

 

_Myka watched quietly as her partner, her love, her newly wedded wife stood in front of Jack the Ripper’s Cape. She recognized the look on Helena’s face._

_She was lost in the past, reliving some moment or interaction that involved the artifact that she’d captured during her time at Warehouse 12._

_And from the clench of her jaw, Myka knew it wasn’t a pleasant memory._

_“Hey,” Myka greeted with a small smile._

_Helena shook herself and turned with a forced smile. “Yes love?”_

_“It’s lunch time. I wanted to see if you were up for a run into town for a bit.”_

_“A break from this inventory sounds lovely,” HG ran a hand through her hair, half expecting it to tangle thanks to the dried blood from the men she’d killed._

_“Was that Cape one of your snags from 12?” Myka took Helena’s hand in hers as they headed toward Artie’s office._

_“It was,” Helena frowned. “One of my last actually.”_

 

 

Wolcott hovered just outside the office door. It had been six weeks since the incident with HG and things had not yet returned to normal.

Helena had been evaluated and suspended for the foreseeable future. Chataranga had suggested a trip so his partner was currently with her brother on a book tour of the Colonies.  She had telegraphed him from New York, mentioning that the highlight of the trip thus far had been snagging an artifact and meeting a potential Warehouse 13 Agent.

It was far from what she should be working on, which was her recovery.

“And what would you have me do,” McGivens sounded tired.  “She is our only candidate at this time. We have no other choice but to continue to mold her to the Warehouse’s liking.”

“Helena Wells is not just another tool to be used by the Regents and the Warehouse,” Wolcott had never heard Chataranga sound so angry. “We allowed her to return before she was ready, allowed her into the field when she was not fit for duty and have, over these past few years since Christina’s death, pushed her towards the mad idea of time travel. While at the same time, attempted to groom her as Caretaker for the new Warehouse.” He sighed heavily, “It is too much.”

“And what would you have us do? We are well enough into this new century to know that the new power will be the United States and that the chances of war continue to grow in the east.  Wells remains our best option as Caretaker. And if she can perfect her concepts of time travel then we might never need to have this discussion in the first place.”

“There are far too many questions in that hypothesis,” Chataranga replied. “Are far too much pressure placed on a woman, who despite all of her abilities, cannot move past the loss of her child.”

“It is time,” his voice was stern, “that the Warehouse took into consideration the people who help to protect this endless wonder.”

“Save that sentiment for 13,” McGivens replied coldly.

 


	22. With heaven’s help you cast your demons out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are many things required of an Agent of the Warehouse,” she began, making eye contact with every Regent before her. “Belief in the unknown balanced with a bit of pragmatism. Planning attack balanced with reckless action.” She looked down at young Agent Payne, “calm with passion.”  
> “We are as human as those we have sworn to protect,” Helena looked up again. “And we make mistakes. Mistakes in the heat of the moment or mistakes that take years to prepare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick glimpse into three different moments in the career of HG Wells.

1890

HG’s eyes bulged as she read through the file. She and Wolcott were on their third case together involving the untimely deaths of coal miners in South Wales. She’d decided to cross reference captured curiosities that had comparable properties and was deep in the archives.  The young Agent had hoped to gather a bit of inspiration since she and her partner were at a standstill.

“Bollocks,” she whispered as she finished reading the report.  The similarities were too many to be a coincidence.

 

“Is this,” HG held the file up, “the kind of business the Warehouse deals in?”

Chataranga set down the part of the chess lock he was tinkering with. “How did you find that report?”

“I was looking for inspiration on the Monroe retrieval,” HG frowned, “and came across this case from 1818.” She set the file down on the desk. “I had no idea McGivens was Russian.”

“By birth yes,” Chataranga looked at the file. “But raised in England.”

“And despite what happened during this case,” HG sat down, “what he did to that man,” she paused, “how was he allowed to become Caretaker?”

“We may be Agents of the Warehouse Miss Wells, but we are human. And with our humanity come all of our passions and imperfections. In this case a young Agent McGivens let his emotions overtake his sense.  It has happened to the best of us, has it not?”

HG shifted from foot to foot.

“But one instance does not make the man,” her mentor continued. “The Regents of Warehouse 11 decided that he was still Agent material so instead of the Bronze he continued his work. And in time the Warehouse itself decided that he would be the next Caretaker.”

 

2017

Helena looked over a Myka, drawing strength from the other woman’s presence. She squared her shoulders and began to speak.

“There are many things required of an Agent of the Warehouse,” she began, making eye contact with every Regent before her. “Belief in the unknown balanced with a bit of pragmatism. Planning attack balanced with reckless action.” She looked down at young Agent Payne, “calm with passion.”

“We are as human as those we have sworn to protect,” Helena looked up again. “And we make mistakes. Mistakes in the heat of the moment or mistakes that take years to prepare.”

HG waited as the wave of uncomfortable emotions settled.  “I am reminded of a case from before my era at 12, one of a young Agent named Barnabas McGivens who in a fit of passion during a retrieval, used the very artifact he was procuring to enact what he believed was justice. He too sat in front of his Regents who debated his fate.”

She paused, gathering her final thoughts.  “Those Regents understood that the actions taken were unforgiveable but the man was, and after a time he was reinstated and went on to have a prosperous career as an Agent and later Caretaker.  Agent Payne, by my estimation, could very well fall into that same category. And unlike the past century, there are ways other than those of bronze that can help restore Simon Payne to the Agent he once was.”

 

“Man,” Pete fidgeted in the small room.  “I have felt this jumpy since Artie’s trial.”

“Well that turned out okay,” Steve replied. “Maybe Abigail will come back to the B&B again.”

“Now that Chef HG is there,” Pete replied with a grin, “there’s even more reason.”

Helena rolled her eyes as she sat down next to Myka across the small room.

“You were great,” Myka squeezed Helena’s hand. “Simon was smart to have you speak on his behalf.”

“He has barely begun his tenure in the Warehouse,” Helena leaned into Myka, “I remember the mistakes that Wolly and I made during those early years. It’s a difficult time.”

“But you made it.”Myka kissed Helena on the forehead.

“And then some.”

 

 

1902

Wolcott checked off the Matryoska Dolls from his inventory list, remembering the harrowing case that he and HG had shared to capture these artifacts.

He also remembered one of the few times that his partner and Chataranga had been at odds. So much so they spent the majority of the case barely speaking to one another.

Tension was so high that at one point McGivens had intervened. Once the case was over HG and Chataranga had settled back into their familiar relationship.

He wondered for the countless time if he should have brought up the case during Helena’s trial. Of how it connected to Agent Barnabas McGiven’s case from Warehouse 11 and if leniency had been shown then, they why not in this instance.

But then his partner had decided her own fate and the Regents readily agreed.

“Mr. Wolcott?”

“Yes Agent Bernard,” Wolcott looked away from the dolls on the shelf.

“Chataranga has a case for us.”

“Lead the way,” Wolcott followed his new American partner down the aisle, pushing aside thoughts of HG Wells and a new statue in the far corner of the Warehouse.


	23. The sound of  distant thunder suddenly starting to climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s why the traveler moves forward to a better tomorrow.” Helena sighed. Soon she would have to meet her fellow Agents for dinner. “And isn’t that what we are working towards in the new century?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installment of Wells and Wolcott in America found in chapters 16, 17 and 19. This one is set towards the end of their time spent in the States. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and as always, please leave me feedback!

 “So this was all the rage?” Pete pointed with his pen to the cylinder on the shelf. “Like 1890s MTV.”

“In some circles,” HG glanced up from her page on the clipboard. “More so in the United States than England. We had to entertain ourselves the old fashioned way.”

“Don’t,” Myka cut off Pete’s joke before it even got started.

HG chuckled as Pete stomped his foot.  “In that someone always played the piano at gatherings.  Mother made us all take lessons.”

“And how did that go?”

“Dreadfully for both Charles and I,” HG eyed the roll containing The Strenuous Life Rag.

 

_They were finally on their way back to England after nearly eight long months in the United States, Mexico and Canada collecting artifacts._

_After so many hours spent in each other’s company, the moment they reached New York the team of Warehouse 12 Agents scattered like leaves on the wind. They would have three days before their liner the Majestic would take the back home. Helena found herself spending time with each of them as they waited._

_She and McShane had managed seats to Lohengrin (which neither of them had seen before) and spent hours after the show in a heated discussion about opera (both agreed Nordica was brilliant but the orchestra was lacking) and the lasting power of myths._

_“Mark my words HG,” Duncan had waved a somewhat drunken finger in her direction. “The Time Machine will be far more influential than you realize. You’re a modern myth maker.”_

_She had rolled her eyes and ordered another round._

_Helena had spent part of the second day strolling Central Park with Donnelly and Holcomb, enjoying stories of their early days in the Warehouse._

_She had learned about Albert’s first visit to the United States shortly after the Civil War to retrieve Harriet Tubman’s thimble.  (She was an incredible woman) and Roberta’s first mission with Kipling. (He saved my life that day and I will forever be in his debt.)_

_That evening she had accompanied Wolcott and Patel to a vaudeville show featuring the popular comedy duo of Weber and Fields along with songstress Lillian Russell (who held far more intriguing charms when the accidently met after the performance.)_

_For her final day in New Amsterdam, Helena found herself without a plan or companionship.  She had met Bull for breakfast, listening to his tales of visiting his cousin in the Garment District and drinking with his other cousin in the Lower East Side.  HG couldn’t help but marvel that Bull seemed to know someone in every part of the world that they traveled._

_With no thought she followed her feet to a small bookstore a few blocks from the boarding house.   WB Books had the look and feel that Helena loved. Old and crowded with hidden treasures for those who had the patience to look._

_It would be a long journey across the Atlantic and nothing helped quell her sea sickness like a good read._

_Helena let her fingers trail along the spines as she faintly hummed along with the player piano in the corner._

_“Window shopping,” a female voice broke her quiet musings._

_“Oh I intend to buy,” Helena turned with a coy smile. “I’m just waiting for something to strike my fancy.”_

_“WB is known for its diverse collection,” the woman smiled back._

_“You sound well versed in diversity.”_

_“Well, I have been around the world in less than 80 days,” the woman smiled as HG’s eyes widened in recognition. “I’ve seen my fair share in my travels.”_

_“It is an honor Miss Bly.”_

_“And you are?”_

_“HG Wells.”_

_“You wouldn’t happen to be related to the author of The Time Machine?”_

_“Well,” HG smirked…_

 

“I know that look,” Myka moved next to Helena in the aisle. “What do you know about that artifact?”

“Nothing actually,” Helena opened up the tag. “You should ask Agents  Bowen and Fredric since they were the ones to snag this artifact. I’m sure Irene will tell you the story of its retrieval.”

“But…”Myka pressed.

“It reminds me of three days spent early in 1896 after my first long stretch in this country.”  She looked over at her wife. “Did I ever tell you about the time I met Nelly Bly in a bookstore?”

“What!” Myka’s practically shouted.  “No! You have to tell me everything!”

“It was my last day and I had wandered into a small bookstore…”

 

_“Do you really think that time travel is possible,” Nelly asked as she trailed a hand along Helena’s bare back._

_“Anything is possible,” HG replied, kissing the other woman’s neck. “If one puts their mind to it.”_

_“But what of the repercussions? I’d think if you change one thing, you’d wind up changing everything.”_

_“That’s why the traveler moves forward to a better tomorrow.” Helena sighed. Soon she would have to meet her fellow Agents for dinner. “And isn’t that what we are working towards in the new century?”_


	24. I know I was a lot of things but I am good, I am grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you ever think that you would see a day like today?”  
> Helena pulled Myka closer. “It is far better than I could have ever imagined.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today (well now yesterday) was an amazing day. Never in my lifetime did I expect to see the social change that swept through the United States made marriage equal for all. I grew up in the time of AIDS and evil lesbians, barely even knowing what gay was until I figured out that I was one of 'them'. And it still took some time before I was finally okay with knowing that thinking women were far more appealing than men wasn't wrong or that I had to hide it from everyone. The thought of two people like that being able to live together and be happy wasn't possible.
> 
> Wow have times changed.
> 
> I can tell you that the chances of me ever marrying are slim but I will always be thankful for the knowledge that if I did find someone that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with I could. And that we could share our lives equally and openly without having to do anything different than my straight friends. It truly is amazing.
> 
> And what better way to celebrate the day with a happy ending (I know from me) for what has become and will always be the greatest fictional couple of all time Bering and Wells. I'll also be posting this in Vodka since it straddles both universes. 
> 
> So if you got married or can get married now, congratulations! Let's enjoy this magical Pride weekend America.

June 26, 1894

“I’d forgotten how dashing you look in a uniform,” HG smirked at Wolly’s eye roll.

“I haven’t worn this since we worked the Diamond Jubilee.” He sighed. “I hoped I wouldn’t find myself in this outfit again.”

“These state weddings,” she adjusted her hair in the hallway mirror. “I feel as if I’m in costume as well.”

Wolly arched an eyebrow. “I thought you said this was the latest style from Paris?”

“It is,” HG turned and smoothed down the dress. “But I’d still me far more comfortable in a pair of trousers.”

She took her partner’s arm as they left the home she shared with her brother and daughter. Both were on holiday with the Wells’ parents.  Charles would normally accompany her to such an important social affair but given its Warehouse connections she was relieved that William would be her escort.

 

“This is the third wedding I’ve attended this summer,” Wolly looked out the window as the carriage carried them closer to the Tanahill estate where the ceremony was to take place.  “Two mates from the Yard and one of my cousins in the winter.”

“It’s been quite some time for myself, though Charles has represented the Wells clan at recent events.”

Helena waited. She could tell that something was bothering her friend. They were both close to Patel and had mentored the young man as he learned the ways of the Warehouse. Samir had been paired with them for several retrievals, more so than any other Agent in the past eight months.  Wolcott had even been one of the organizers of Patel’s Stag Night a few weeks prior.

“Do you ever wonder,” he spoke softly. “If we will ever find happiness?”

“Well,” Helena thought for a minute. “I am quite content now. Christian is thriving. Charles and I are about to begin work on another novel. I have you as my partner at the Warehouse,” she smiled.

“Plus I haven’t been shot with one of Nikola’s guns recently.”

“Well, there is that,” Wolcott agreed. “But after attending so many celebrations this year I find myself wanting some of that joy for myself.  That is what I speak of when I mention happiness.”

“I once thought that as a Warehouse Agent it would be impossible to find such things.  There would be no time for love and certainly no time for family if one didn’t come already prepared into its service.  But seeing Samir find both things while in the service of twelve…”

“It’s something you never considered.”

“Yes,” he finally turned from the window. “Of course there is another issue to deal with as well.”

“Indeed.”

Helena was well aware of what Wolcott spoke off. It was one of the many reasons they made such good partners. There would never be a chance, especially on William’s part, that more than a platonic love would overtake them.

“I can envision many things for the new century Wolly,” HG took one of his hands in hers. “But that is not one of them.”

“I have to hope that someday a descendent of Wells will find happiness,” he squeezed and let go. “Regardless of their circumstance.”

“I hope so as well.”

 

June 26, 2015

“Why is it always so HOT when we come here?” Pete hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Well it is summer,” HG replied, adjusting the air conditioning vent. She and Pete had been assigned retrieval in what her partner had called “BFE Texas”.  

“I will be glad to return to an area with cell reception,” Helena pulled out her phone and frowned that the device still showed no connection.

“Well the hotel is in El Paso.  You’ll be able to call Myka then.”

“That is not the only reason,” HG huffed while Pete chuckled.

“Right,” he teased. “I’m sure you want to catch up with the news and check emails and see where you are on the leader board on Bejeweled Blitz.”

“I am not taking your bait.”

“Okay HG. Suit yourself. Just know you’ll never take that top spot from Claude.”

 

About an hour outside of their destination, Helena felt her phone vibrate multiple times signaling reception had finally returned.

She bypassed the many notifications and went directly to the texts from Myka.

Pete pulled his eyes from the road when he heard HG gasp.

“You okay over there?”

“Yes,” Helena fought back tears.  “Very much so.”

Pete got hit with a huge vibe.

“Are you sure cause I’m kinda vibing out big time right now.”

“Myka is going to be meeting us in El Paso,” Helena looked up from her phone.  “We are not spending the night but heading back to South Dakota.”

“Warehouse at Defcon 1?”

“Far from it,” Helena pulled up her news app. “She and I are getting married tomorrow morning.”

 

June 26, 1894

The wedding had been a smashing success.  Samir and his bride had been radiant, the love the shared shining through as strong as any artifact currently housed in 12. Wolly had pulled himself out of his melancholy mood and rather enjoyed himself, making a new acquaintance with one of the groomsmen (from what HG could tell).

She had danced with her fellow Agents and sipped a fine Brandy with Chataranga while discussing some of HG’s side projects.  And during a quiet moment she had be provided the opportunity to slip away with one of the brides many female cousins into the garden.

But she had been in a mood since her discussion with Wolcott and surprised herself by declining the offer.

She hadn’t lied when she explained her contentment with her currently life. If she wasn’t focused on the Warehouse, Christina held all her attention.  Charles was always a source of vexation as siblings were but she loved him none the less.

Helena knew her charms could keep her social schedule full as well and she never found herself lacking when in need of companionship.

But Wolly had set her to thinking about the future, beyond the technical advances that the looming 20th century would hold.  Perhaps it was the hint of scandal slowly swirling around Oscar, or Rudyard’s ever present loathing of all things Wells.

The only future she could envision for those of her ilk involved Bethlem or worse.

She would have to ponder why such a bleak outcome (one that she had readily accepted long ago) troubled her so now.

 

June 27, 2015

“So early,” Pete moaned and Claudia grunted in agreement. 

“I’ve got coffee,” Abigail and Steve joined the pair on the courthouse steps.  “This should help.”

“You’d think that with the whole ‘we’re getting married’ thing they would get here before us.”  Claudia observed.

“They had a late night,” Pete waggled his eyebrows.

“I know,” Steve agreed. “I wound up sleeping on the couch.”

“Children,” Artie bustled up the steps. “What are you doing standing out here? Let’s go!”

“But they aren’t even here yet,” Claudia protested.

“Yes they are. Myka just texted me they are the third couple in line. We’re going to miss it.”

 

 

 

“Did you ever think,” Myka said much later. After the ceremony and the tears (mostly by Artie) and the celebratory breakfast at Pete’s favorite diner.  After the surprise visit from Mrs. Fredric with congratulations and a week’s vacation at one of the Regent’s more secluded and scenic locations.  After Helena had showed with words and with hands and with lips how much she loved Myka beyond others was the question was asked.

“Did you ever think that you would see a day like today?”

Helena pulled Myka closer.  “It is far better than I could have ever imagined.”


	25. Soft and kind, cold as ice, hold yourself beneath the brine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship rolled again. HG skidded forward, losing the men in the darkness. She had studied the ship’s blueprints before she’d left and knew that the trip to the bridge was taking far too long. The artifact had definitely taken over and was pushing them all towards a watery death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call this one a little Halloween warm up tale that is set prior to chapter 19 of Wells and Wolcott. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

HG felt her stomach roll as the steamer dipped violently in the storm.  She could make out the dim outline of Wolcott a few feet in front of her. McShane and Holcomb had disappeared below decks in an attempt to track down the artifact.

Shipwreck curiosities were always the worst. The spoke of sudden and tragic death which meant they tended to be the most harrowing to recover. The fact that Helena’s stomach was not a fan of sea travel also played a small factor in her dreading this assignment.  The Annie Jane had sunk 13 years prior to her birth but had a small section dedicated to in at twelve.  This was Holcomb’s third retrieval of an artifact from the vessel.

The ship rolled again and HG wondered as she watched Wolly crash into the deck if it wasn’t going to be his (and their) last.

She slid to her partner’s side.  “Are you injured?” she shouted over the roar of the storm.

“I’m okay,” Wolcott wheezed. “The bridge is just around the corner.”

“Righty ho,” she huffed, helping him to his feet as the ship shook again.  A bright blast of lighting illuminated the rapidly approaching Scottish shoreline.

“We need to hurry.”  She took the lead, staying as close as she could to the wall as she could.

 

They dragged themselves forward, each step more treacherous than the last.  Given the increasing intensity of the storm, HG thought the artifact must be with the captain.

“HG!” Duncan’s voice then face appeared out of seemingly nowhere. “Stop.”

“McShane, where’s Agent Holcomb?”

Another flash of lightening lit the sky and she was able to see her fellow Agent’s rough appearance. It looked as if he’d just come from the sea, his suit drenched and torn with tendrils of seaweed hanging from his shoulders.

“You must stop!” he shouted again, lunging at Wells and Wolcott.

Before HG could respond William was in front of her grappling with the bigger man.

“Go!” Wolly hissed, “He’s been affected by the artifact.”

 

The ship rolled again. HG skidded forward, losing the men in the darkness.  She had studied the ship’s blueprints before she’d left and knew that the trip to the bridge was taking far too long.  The artifact had definitely taken over and was pushing them all towards a watery death.

“Not today,” she growled, finally rounding the corner and seeing the door to the bridge.  Pushing up onto her toes she could see through the small window. The captain was standing stiffly at the helm. His face was pale and movements stiff as if he was attempting to resist the artifact’s effects.   In front of him on the window ledge was a glowing circular object, the Annie Jane’s compass.

So focused on the cabin, HG was taken by surprise when a vice like grip clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around, causing her to nearly fall on the slick deck.  She recoiled when a timely lightly strike illuminated the figure before her.

Duncan had looked as if he had spent some time below the sea, but the ghostly figure clearly had. Blue skin scarred with deep cuts and tears from fish sagged from the ghoul’s face.  Stringy long dark hair matted with sea weed hung limply on slim shoulders.  Dressed much like herself, HG gasped when she realized that the demon before her was a woman.

HG was frozen in place as the creature leaned forward, its mouth moving as if to form words.

“Smash the needle,” the vaguely female voice rasped. “Then the ring, then toss them into the sea.”

Lightening streaked across the sky and the figure appeared fully human for an instant. HG found herself caught by deep hazel eyes before the sky dimmed and the figure disappeared.

“Free us,” a voice echoed from the darkness.

HG steadied herself and entered the cabin.  As she suspected the captain was drained from his ordeal fighting the compass and a sweep of the leg dropped him.  She quickly smashed the glass front of the compass with the butt of her grappler and pulled the needle out, breaking it in two. Sparks flew across the cabin but she pressed on, ripping out out the chapter ring and smashing it under her heel.

A groan from the captain told her that the spell had been broken. She quickly gathered what was left of the artifact.

“Captain we are headed for the rocks,” she pulled the man to his feet. “You must turn the ship immediately.”

With a slight nod he stood at the wheel and began to right the ship, calling down to the engine room to cut power.

“HG,” a drenched Wolcott appeared in the doorway with an equally bedraggled McShane  behind him. “The curiosity?”

“Contained. Where is Agent Holcomb?”

“Below decks, locked in a closet,” Duncan frowned. “Bollocks.” He hurried off to release his mentor.  Pushing past Wolcott she tossed the fragments of the compass into the waves. Moments later the sea calmed and the clouds disappeared.

“Well done Helena,” Wolcott patted her should. “Well done.”

 

 

“Agent Wells,” McGivens looked up from the file. “You do realize that by not collecting the artifact you have left open the potential for its return?”

“I felt it necessary to destroy the compass in order to save all those aboard,” HG stood with her hands clasped behind her back before the Caretaker and a small group of Regents.  “The hold it had on the captain was too entrenched and I could not risk him taking the ship any closer to shore.”

“He still remains in hospital?” one of the Regents asked.

“Yes,” Chataranga replied. “And will for some time.”

“And what of Agent Well’s apparition? Has she been identified?” another Regent asked.

“Not as of yet,” Chataranga glanced at HG, “as you know, these transport ships don’t keep the best of records but I believe we will solve this mystery.”

 

 

“Come now HG,” Duncan sat down at their favorite booth at The Old Bell. “Do you really believe some sort of spirit gave you guidance that night?”

“I can assure you Duncan that what I witness was not human,” she sipped her beer, raising her eyebrows at his disbelieving expression.

“You doubt the validity of my statements?”

“Not at all, but it seems so preposterous. It must have been a passenger.”

“Have you not noticed where we work?” HG shook her head. “Miracles happen every day.”

“And dark deeds,” Wolcott motioned for Duncan to slide over. “All from these curiosities.”

“That are in no way natural occurrences,” HG picked up where her partner left off. “So the idea of a visitor from another realm is somehow impossible?”

“Artifacts are fueled by emotions,” Duncan debated. “Emotions from the living. I don’t doubt that you saw something that night. I am not convinced that it was other worldly.”

“Whatever it was,” Wolcott broke the stalemate, “it helped us save the ship and brought us here tonight.”

“Well said. To another successful retrieval.” HG raised her glass and clanked it against her fellow Agent’s drinks.   


	26. It’s turtles all the way down the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Any luck?”  
> “Nothing,” he rasped. “Though I did find a high quality Scotch hidden under the table.”  
> “Then this hunt has not entirely been a waste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light update for the end of the year from the early years of our favorite Warehouse 12 duo. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

HG stood as quickly as she could, scanning the room for more possible attackers. When none appeared she headed into the kitchen where Wolcott leaned heavily on a kitchen counter.

“Any luck?”

“Nothing,” he rasped.  “Though I did find a high quality Scotch hidden under the table.”

“Then this hunt has not entirely been a waste.”

 

Since spirits were not allowed in Warehouse 12 they shared the bottle on a park bench a block away from the secret entrance.  It was December and the first snow had fallen two days prior but after a few pulls of the amber liquid it didn’t matter.

Wolcott noticed a dark bruise forming on HG’s neck. “You should get the Doctor to take a look at that.”

“I suppose,” she sighed. “I fear this case is a wild goose chase to ensure we do not spend time with our loved ones over the holiday.”

“Surely not!”

“Chataranga is already away,” Helena took a drink. “McGivens is nowhere to be found.” She raised an eyebrow. “And Kipling has been left in charge.”

“Bloody hell,” Wolcott’s voice carried a bit, causing a few disgusted looks from passersby. “He wouldn’t.”

 

The Pharmacy Act of 1868 had hampered the business interests of the few (yet popular) opium dens in London.  And even the great Ah Sing had been forced to change his approach to the enterprise. The transition had led to several low level artifacts being created but the one that Wells and Wolcott sought, his pipe, had been another matter.

“That’s quite a bruise,” Agent Donnelly slid a cup of strong tea in front of her fellow Agent.

“A well known hazard of our endeavor,” Helena sipped the strong brew. “Thank you.” She looked down at the open case file before her. “This is impossible.”

Rebecca laughed and sat down at her desk.  “I have every confidence that you and William will find your curiosity.” She smirked. “Any pair who could sing My Old Dutch so well surely can accomplish anything.”

HG scowled which caused the other Agent to laugh even harder.

“Good morning,” McShane spoke loudly as Wolcott followed him in slowly.

“Duncan,” Agent Donnelly greeted. “I believe we have inventory?” She held up several pages.

“Indeed,” he nodded and began to hum a painfully familiar tune.

“We will be haunted for ages,” Wolly shook his head. Then grimaced.

It was going to be a long day.

 

 

Well after sunset Wells and Wolcott found themselves on the streets of the East End yet again. A tip from Carlotta had led them to a former shop boy for Ah Sing which had led to an old supplier which had led them here.

“Well this looks lovely,” Wolly observed.

“As lovely as the rest. Come then and let’s get this over with.”

The pair made their way into the ramshackle establishment. 

HG made a note not to touch anything as soon as she opened the door.

Per usual, she left Wolcott to begin the questioning as she observed the environment.  The mish-mash of design and furniture spoke to a building that had seen several uses during its existence.  The current being a small opium den fronted by an attempt at a drinking establishment.

The sound of shuffling feet and a door slamming was a promising sign.

 

The duo quickly made their way to the back, through the den and into the alley.  Luck was with them (for once) since the lane was a dead end.

“Just give us the pipe,” Wolcott kept his voice calm. “That’s all we’re here for.”

“No!”

HG recognized the frantic eyes of a man under the thrall of an artifact.

“The hard way then,” she grumbled and pulled out her modified Tesla.

“NO!” the man shouted and lunged, shoving Wolly aside and into a pile of rubbish. HG barely got the shot away before he was on her.

 

“But my absolute favorite,” McShane grinned, “was the turtles.”

“Turtles?”

Wolly chuckled.  Somehow in the process of removing the man from her person, HG had managed to touch the artifact with her bare hand. The effects were instant.

Luckily McShane and Holcomb had been nearby and able to assist in securing the artifact and a hallucinating HG Wells.

After dealing with the artifact and neutralizing its effects, Wells and Wolcott along with McShane had paid a visit to The Old Bell for a celebratory drink.

“You were going on about turtles traveling through time. Quite extensively in fact,” Wolly smiled. “If I didn’t know you’d been knackered I would have thought you quite serious.”

“Even in your most euphoric state you’re a scientist,” McShane added. “Quite mad but a scientist none the less.”

“I’ve begun research on an idea for a book.” HG replied.

“Is it on turtles?” McShane snorted.

“We will be old and gray and this will still be a popular topic of conversation,” she sighed.

“Or your,” McShane looked at the pair, “old Dutch.”


	27. Oh my country so beautiful and lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolcott smirked. “I knew he would make me tell the tale.” He set the Times down. “You know I had never been to Belgium and now I’m not sure I ever want to return.”  
> “Was it that bad?”  
> “Yes,” He looked at his friend. “It involved cats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flash forward in the world of Wells and Wolcott thanks to a great gif of the picture from 3...2...1. There are a few references to previous chapters of this series as well (but you don't have to be up to date to get what's going on.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

They were in Brussels on a special mission for the Regents.  Well Helena was and Myka and Steve had been sent to assist.  And (thankfully) it was just a mission since no active artifact hunt was involved.  Helena knew of a secret storage facility that needed to be checked on.  

“This area really went through it,” Steve looked at the blackened walls.  “I’m surprised it survived.”

“Two World Wars,” Myka ran her hand down a large crack in the wall. “Chataranga really was a master.”

“He was,” Helena replied, not taking her eyes off of the objects in stasis, “but this was actually the work of Warehouse 8. Though I do believe 10 did an update at some point. ”

After another 20 minutes of inspection and calibration the task was complete. 

 

“I can’t remember the last time things went so smoothly,” Steve smiled. 

Myka rolled her eyes and Helena groaned.

“What?”

“You know what you just did,” Myka scowled.

“Have you turned into Pete?”

“God no!”

“Then unless you have some sort of vibe,” Steve sassed back. “I’m going with this ‘things went smoothly and now we have three more days in Europe’ thing I’ve got going on.” He paused. “For as long as we can at least.”

Helena’s Farnsworth went off, pulling her away from the conversation.

 

 

Myka kept an eye on her partner while she bantered with Steve. She could tell the news she was getting was about to change the plans they were making.

“Is everything okay?” she asked when Helena returned.

“Claudia,” Helena swallowed, “they think they’ve found him. “

“Oh wow,” Myka’s eyes grew wide.

“Found who HG?” Steve was confused.

Helena felt a pressure in her chest. “Wolcott.”

 

_“And how was holiday with your parents?” Wolly didn’t look up from the paper to pose his question. She had found him in her workshop as always. Though it had been several days since they had seen one another._

_“Tedious as always. They continue to press both Charles and I to give up our bachelor lifestyles for fear of scandal.” She rolled her eyes. “Luckily Christina was three to distract them so that the topic quickly dropped.”_

_HG pulled on her goggles and industrial apron. “There’s talk of a family trip this summer to Paris.  Charles was opposed to the idea but I think a few appointments with French publishers might make it worth his while.” She smiled.  “Plus Christina was still an infant the last time we visited. She’d love her cousins.”_

_Helena pulled out her soldering tools. “McShane told me you both had quite an adventure while I was away.”_

_Wolcott smirked. “I knew he would make me tell the tale.” He set the Times down. “You know I had never been to Belgium and now I’m not sure I ever want to return.”_

_“Was it that bad?”_

_“Yes,” He looked at his friend.  “It involved cats.”_

_“Oh no.”_

 

“Wolly hated the buggers,” HG brushed back her hair and looked out over the countryside.  “Much like you and tentacles.” She glanced back at Myka in the backseat.

Steve chuckled.

“And Ypres is known for its Cat Parade,” Myka looked up from the pamphlet she was reading. The trio was driving down a small road about 10 miles outside of the city. It was winter and a light snow had given the landscape an ethereal glow.

The GPS beeped and Steve slowed the car.  “It says there should be a road here,” he mumbled.

“There,” Helena pointed to little more than a rut partially covered by snow.

 

_“Are you sure Agent Wolcott?” Chataranga asked again._

_“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve talked to McShane and he has arranged for both of us to be in the same unit.  Besides, almost everything has moved to America.  Twelve is not in need of Agents anymore.”_

_“The new American Regents have made an exception in this case,” the older man sighed.  “With the war many of their best recruits are considering joining up.”_

_“But the American President has no interest in war.”_

_“At this time,” Chataranga countered. “They are the rising power and in this new century they will not be able to remain uninvolved.”_

_“Well hopefully this campaign will be a brief one then.” He stood. “It has been an honor and a privilege to work with you sir.”_

_“Agreed.”  The older man stepped from behind the guest and pulled the former Agent into a hug._

_“I left a note,” Wolcott said as he pulled back, “to be added her file.  In case she wakes up.”_

_“I know.” He smiled. “It’s right next to mine.”_

 

Even in her madness, one of the first things Helena had done one she had escaped the Bronze was find out what happened to her friends from Warehouse 12.  Chataranga had moved to the United States to tutor the first wave of Agents and help train the new Caretaker.  McShane had been true to his word, making sure that he and Wolcott remained in the same unit during the War.

McShane had managed to survive the ordeal, leaving his leg somewhere on the banks of the Somme. From what she could find, Duncan led a quiet life after that until his death in 1938. He had remained friends with Charles and kept in contact with Chataranga for the rest of his life.

Wolly had stayed in after Somme, rising to the rank of Captain. It was another year before he was lost during the Third Battle of Ypres.  The Warehouse had made sure that he received a proper burial but the record of where had been lost during a fire in 1928.

That was until a healed HG returned to the warehouse and enlisted Claudia’s help some six months ago.

 

Steve leaned on the hood of the car.  Myka stood a few feet behind to give her love space.

Helena knelt on the hard ground and brushed snow from the small square headstone. 

“Oh Wolly,” she sighed and pulled out a faded envelope from her coat pocket. “I finally received your letter.  Though it took a little longer than I think either one of us expected.  I am better now, though Christina’s death will always haunt me.”

“I’ve found someone,” she glanced over her shoulder at Myka, “someone who makes my heart sing. You would love her nearly as much as I.  And I have home again with the Warehouse,” she swallowed as the tears came, “though it will never be the same without you. “

She felt Myka’s hands rest lightly on her shoulders.

“There are times when I go to my workshop and expect to see you there with a copy of the Times. Ready to discuss the day’s events or complain about Kipling.” She paused for a moment to collect herself.

“Thank you Wolly. Thank you for always being the truest of friends.”

 

 

The trio made their way back into town in silence.  Steve drove with Myka holding Helena in the back seat. 


	28. Once more with joy O my home I may meet, once more ye fair, flowr'y meadows I greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had joked that McShane should have been the third given his love of Wagner, but he and his new partner had been sent to Algeria to track down a Cleopatra curiosity. With Holcomb’s retirement and Bull’s career looking to be an end due to injury, for the first time in years the Warehouse found themselves in need of new personnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time revisit my favorite pair of Agents, Wells and Wolcott mixing with a Tannhauser artifact with dark results.
> 
> This started out as something else but here we are. I blame Ms Daphne Fielding on getting me in an operatic mood thanks to her fantastic update to Stages. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and feedback is always appreciated!

Helena followed quietly, keeping an eye out for more safeguards from whoever had hidden the object in this cavern.  She, Wolcott and Patel had been sent to Konigsberg on the hunt for a Tannhauser artifact. The pair had been surprised that a third was added to the mission and that Patel, whose wife had recently given birth was selected.  She had thought he was on leave but the Warehouse often denied much needed time with loved ones.

They had joked that McShane should have been the third given his love of Wagner, but he and his new partner had been sent to Algeria to track down a Cleopatra curiosity. With Holcomb’s retirement and Bull’s career looking to be an end due to injury, for the first time in years the Warehouse found themselves in need of new personnel.

_“We are more pressed than ever,” Wolcott had groused as he helped her pack an assortment of her inventions for the trip.  “And yet McGivens is slow in adding to our roster.”_

_“Careful with that,” she took her newly redesigned grappler from his hands. “The trigger still a bit sensitive,” she quirked an eyebrow, “as are you it seems.”_

_“In a scant few years we will be upon one of the most curiosity laden times,” he paused, “a new century. I’ve been researching and in the years leading up to and directly after for every Warehouse there has been a drastic increase in activity.”_

_“And you want to be prepared.”_

_“Of course,” they lifted the trunk onto one of the work benches. “Neither one of us is getting any younger Helena.”_

_“Don’t remind me.”_

_“And we are not able to be everywhere at once,” he stood back and allowed his partner to seal the case for transport. “What if we miss a critical artifact?”_

_Helena sighed.  Wolcott had recently recovered from a near fatal retrieval while she had been on a short book tour with her brother. She understood his concern but knew that this type of worry was a self fulfilling prophecy._

_“Has the Warehouse ever missed a critical artifact? You’ve been researching so you’d know.”_

_He thought for a moment. “Not yet.”_

_“And do you honestly think that McGivens and Chataranga do not have a plan in the making?”_

_“I suppose not.”_

_“William,” she moved away from the truck and rested her hands on his shoulders. “We will be fine.  I promise you.”_

_“You’re right,” he nodded._

_“As I often am,” she smiled. “Come let’s finish this and get this to shipping. I believe Patel and McShane owe us a drink at the Old Bell.”_

 

So here there were, Wolcott head the torch at the front of the line, Patel next, with HG following behind with a torch of her own.  Of course the artifact was bifurcated, with one part in the city above and the other in the tunnels below.

Luckily the tunnels and tombs of this city were not those of Paris.  They had lost an Agent during the first few months of her tenure at 12 to the catacombs of that city. Enclosed spaces were not her forte and keeping calm as the passageway became tighter was becoming an issue.

 

Wolcott stopped suddenly. “There is something ahead.”

“A trap?” Patel asked.

“Hopefully the artifact,” HG muttered.

“HG do you have?”

“Of course Agent Wolcott,” she reached into her long coat and pulled out a small vile of liquid. “Agent Patel would you hold this please?”

“What is that?” he asked.

“I chemical compound that when exposed to air with provide light to a small area. Much more reliable than fire,” she shook the contents for a moment.  “It should provide roughly two minutes of illumination so scan the area carefully. The initial moments are quite bright so I recommend closing your eyes.”

HG stepped to the front of the group. “Here we go boys.” She tossed the vile ahead and quickly turned away as the light filled the area ahead.

After a moment, the trio examined the small chamber that lie ahead.

“I don’t see,” HG began.

“The artifact,” Patel suddenly pushed past her and into the small chamber.  “Let’s be done with this mission.”

“Wait!” she shouted as Wolcott attempted to grab his shoulder.

HG’s world exploded into blinding light followed by darkness.

 

“And how are you feeling today Agent Wells?”

“As good as one could expect,” she glanced back at the nurse who had been sent to accompany her and Wolcott back to England.  “Normally a voyage by sea would find me a tad nauseous but it seems that my recent incident has cured me of that ailment.”

“An unexpected outcome,” the nurse, a Miss McPeters, a niece of one of The Regents, nodded. “From a most unfortunate event.”

“Indeed.”

 

She grasped the ship’s railing tighter, pushing away the sensation of being pinned by rocks from the cave in. Unable to move but able to think, to hear Wolcott’s uneven breathing and the cries for help from Patel somewhere below.

They had been trapped for three days before a team lead by Kipling had saved them.  Wells and Wolcott had been near death.

Patel had not been as fortunate.

Two weeks and four days later she and her partner were on a steamer headed back to England. The search for the artifact and Patel’s body continued but they were losing hope.  HG had surmised the cave in had inadvertently destroyed the second half since its victims had recovered.

McGivens wanted to be sure.

 

“Shall I fetch Mr. Wolcott? He was inquiring about you earlier.”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” HG gave the young woman a small smile.

Helena’s grip remained firm on the railing, the cold Baltic air causing her long hair to swirl around her.  Wolcott joined her a short time later. His silent prescience a comfort given what she could have lost.

“What I look forward to the most in the new century,” Wolcott spoke softly, his blue eyes focused on a point in the distance, “is a perfect cuppa.”

“Is such a thing even possible?”

“I hope so,” Wolcott sighed.  “And you?”

“An end to the dreaded corset,” she sighed. “Bloody torture devices.”

“But the womanly figure…”

“Can be better appreciated under other circumstances.”

He chuckled, “I’m glad one of us has that understanding.”

“I shall carry on that burden for the both of us dear Wolcott.”

“If we live to see the new century.”

Helena moved closer her friend. “We shall my friend, we shall.”

She rested her hand over his as they continued to gaze upon the sea.


	29. Far Away but Still So Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Long enough for me to discern that there is no other way to neutralize this curiosity other than to complete its requests,” Chataranga spoke as he entered from the Warehouse file room. He looked at his two favorite agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> So here's my annual contribution to the Bering and Wells gift exchange over on Tumblr for the brilliant Sistersin7. Bering and Wells and the ghosts of a Dickens artifact. Thank you for reading !

 

Bleary eyed and highly annoyed, HG made her way to the Warehouse offices in the hope of discovering some way to overcome the effects of the artifact. When she opened the door she was greeted by her disheveled looking partner.

“It seems that I was not the only person to receive an unwanted visitor tonight.”

“Indeed HG,” Wolly looked up from the file on their most recent case.  “I was not prepared to see my grandfather quite so soon.”

“Mine as well.  How long have you been here?”

“Long enough for me to discern that there is no other way to neutralize this curiosity other than to complete its requests,” Chataranga spoke as he entered from the Warehouse file room.  He looked at his two favorite agents.

“Bugger all,” HG cursed.

Wolly dropped his head to the desk.

“I’ve notified McShane and Fredrick at the boarding house to expect you both within the hour.  They will monitor you for the rest of the night and intercede if necessary.”

 

HG pressed close to her partner in the cold December night as the pair made their way through the empty streets of London.

“How far along are you in the tale,” she asked, eyes following the fog of her breath.

“Christmas present,” Wolly huffed. “It was quite nice actually.”

“Where did you go?”

“The Warehouse Christmas party from the other evening,” he paused with an expectant look.

“I completed the second visit as well,” Helena trailed off.

“You went to see her didn’t you, after the party.”

Helena thought of the cold night spent in front of the small memorial she and her brother had erected in honor of Christina at her daughter’s favorite park. 

Wolcott pulled his friend closer as they made their way through the night.

 

 

After sharing a cup of tea with McShane and Mrs. Caversham, the owner of the boarding house, HG retired to the room set aside for her. She had rarely used it during her tenure at Warehouse 12, preferring to stay with Charles and later Christina at her family’s London home.

With Christina gone and Charles away more as HG Wells, Helena found herself spending more and more time at the boarding house. McShane and Wolcott, perennial bachelors, had roomed there for years.  The newest Agents and apprentices also stayed at the home, Irene Fredrick drawing the unlucky duty of watching over Wolcott while McShane sat reading in her favorite chair as she prepared for bed once again.

“If you appear under duress I shall wake you immediately,” her long time friend glanced up from his book as she pulled the covers onto her body.

“Goodnight Duncan.”

 

HG woke with a start, eyes wide and body tense. She immediately looked over to where McShane sat.  Her college was still in his chair, eyes on his book.

“McShane,” she called softly. “Did you not hear that noise?”

“He can’t hear you Helena.”

She flew out of bed spun around to face the final specter of the evening.   Tall and slim, draped in a thick, black hooded cloak, this ghost was easily the most chilling of the night.

“So I take it you are the here to show me my future then?”

“Yes,” the eerie voiced hissed.

“Well let’s get to it then,” Helena cast a glance at McShane frozen in his seat, “no dawdling.”

 

Helena found herself in a home much like the boarding house she and the other Agents shared. There was a hearth with a cozy looking fire, a Christmas tree in the corner and the smell of food coming from the kitchen. A strange sort of music played from a device in the corner, with a woman singing about what she wanted for Christmas.

She knew that this future was a very distant one since none of the comforts of her era were visible but this home was still connected to the Warehouse in some way.

A door opened and voices filled the still room.

“You would think after all these years we’d get used to that cold,” a young man with bright blue eyes and short hair shook the snow off his coat.

“But where’s the holiday charm in that Jinksy,” a short red headed woman replied with a smile.

“I’m just glad we don’t have a ping,” another man, older with brown hair and broad shoulders helped the red head out of her jacket. “It’s a true Christmas miracle.”

The trio entered the living room and were greeted by a portly older man with glasses and a younger woman with dark skin and curly hair.

“Everything okay?”

“The Warehouse is secure Artimus.”

“The last time you said that Pete we came back to a flood of bubbles from Winston 336.”

“We’re good, here look.” The young woman handed over a small tablet to the older man. 

“Thank you Claudia.”

“Are they back yet?” Jinksy asked.

“Myka called about 20 minutes ago so they should be here any minute.”

 

Helena looked over at her silent companion.  She wondered why she was being shown this holiday gathering.  The group clearly had ties to the Warehouse which had apparently moved to the United States at some point in the distant future.  Christmas was still celebrated in what appeared to be a somewhat similar fashion, as a gathering of friends and family.

 

The door opened and closed again.

“I will never understand you fascination with this ghastly weather.”

Helena stood in shock as she watched a slightly older version of herself began to unravel the many layers of clothing covering her.

“Oh honey,” the other woman, who must be Myka, leaned over a pecked her on the cheek. “You’ll be fine once you warm up.”

“I may never,” Helena teased, her hair getting caught for a moment in her scarf.

“Let me,” Myka reached over and untangled the garment.  Helena leaned up and gave her a tender kiss.

 

“Save that for later you two.”

“Hey Claude,” Myka pulled away from Helena and gave the other woman a hug.

“Merry Christmas Claudia.”

“You too HG. We just got started.”

 

Helena had so many questions as she watched herself interact with the group who she clearly shared great affection for.  Who was this Myka? How was she still with the Warehouse in America?  Just how far in the future had she gone?

Was physical time travel truly possible?

Before she could ask any of her questions she found herself back in her room in England.  McShane stood at her bedside with a look of concern on his face.

“HG,” he knelt down. “Are you well?”

“What,” Helena shifted on the bed. “What happened?”

“I was reading when you suddenly began to thrash about the bed as if caught in a nightmare. I thought that the final ghost was about to make an appearance.”

“It has,” Helena sat up against the headboard.

“Impossible,” McShane pulled out his pocket watch. “We’ve only been here for 10 minutes.”

 

_Many years later…_

Helena stopped and surveyed the room.  Myka was standing with Claudia and Pete laughing at something, Steve was helping Leena bring in snacks from the kitchen while Artie sat at the piano playing a holiday tune.

A strong wave of déjà vu swept through her. This was her first Christmas back after Yellowstone, her first ever at this Warehouse but she felt as if she had seen this all before.

She glanced to her left, almost expecting to see someone standing next to her.

“Hey,” Myka came over and took her hand. “Are you all right?”

Helena gave Myka a quick kiss. “Quite, my love.”


End file.
